I Gave Myself a Vajacial

The Vajacial (or ‘vajaycial’), AKA the vagina facial. That most classic of beauty regimens. It may be old news – we’re talking the vajazzle era type old; circa 2k13 hullabaloo – but I have only just decided to give myself one. You could say that I’ve got a lot of spare time on my hands (true) or you could say that, despite prior TLC efforts (read: a hollywood every month, offset with some lackadaisical exfoliation), the surface of my vag still resembles the surface of Mars (double true). Or an aerial shots of the Pennines (triple true). All lumps, bumps and intermittent foliage. Not the hair-free, care-free expanse of silky skin the VS angels lead me to believe is achievable. I should take my own advice and follow the ingrown hair tackling tips I gathered from experts (you can read it here) but instead I’m going to lather my vag in gelatin (vagelatin?). Because LOGIC!

According to Cosmo, the vajacial is DIY doable. My initial reaction to that? ‘YEAH, RIGHT!’ Scepticism aside, I banished every instinct that told me I was incapable of whipping up an A* fanny-mask and set to work recruiting the tools I would need to take my hoohah from a glorious 8 to a gleaming 10 (despite its literal mountainous flaws, my punani’s self esteem is off the charts). Here’s how it went down…

Ingredients needed: antibacterial body wash, alcohol free toner, papaya, lemon juice, gelatin, Greek yoghurt, honey, hydrogen peroxide, vitamin E capsule. 

‘You start by cleansing with antibacterial body wash. Use an alcohol free toner after on the skin.’ Confession time: I merely hopped in and out of the shower. I skipped the toner part altogether. So far, so bad. I don’t own a facial toner (is that what they’re called?) so there wasn’t a hope in hell I was going to splash out to splash one on my fanny. Who does my vag think she is, the Queen of Sheba? Soapy water will do you fine, old girl. On to the next one…
Verdict: Business as usual. My vagina feels indifferent about this step.

‘Next mix a papaya with lemon juice and one package of gelatin, which will work as an exfoliant. You can use a cotton pad or your hands to apply and leave on for two to five minutes.’ In a bid to cut corners ingredients-wise (and because I couldn’t locate a papaya) and demonstrate my innovativeness, I bought papaya yoghurt: ‘Why buy Greek yoghurt AND papaya when I could just buy papaya yoghurt!’ I overlooked the very minor (major) detail that the papaya and Greek yoghurt were used in separate stages of my vag’s reincarnation. In short: I’d fallen at the first hurdle (or technically the second if you include toner gate). Three sheets of gelatin, a splodge of papaya yoghurt (again: not what was required) and a squeeze of lemon later (the easiest part so far) and my mixture resembled exfoliant in no way, shape or form. It was arguably the thinnest liquid I’d ever seen. I added some cornflour (ingenious, right?) and thickened that baby up. It half worked. I laid down a towel and slapped the papaya-laden vag-gruel inbetween my legs with all the accuracy of a drunk darts player. It slid off immediately, leaving chunks of mango (did I mention the yoghurt was a papaya, mango mash-up? I didn’t?) sat atop my bikini line. I resisted the urge to eat it. Just.
Verdict: Gelatin is weird.

‘Following the exfoliating, mix together two tbsp. Greek yogurt, 1 tbsp honey, 1 tbsp hydrogen peroxide. Put on bikini area for five minutes to sooth and lighten.’ Following the failure of the previous step, my vagina was not at all exfoliated – but it did smell delicious. Every cloud, eh. I squeezed honey galore into a bowl with my papaya and mango yoghurt (still Greek yoghurt-less, remember?) and set about deciphering what the fuck hydrogen peroxide was. A google search proved unenlightening (‘a chemical compound with the formula H2O 2’) and I decided that it sounded too science-y and scary to plaster over my pussy. Who needs to lighten their hoohah anywho(haa)?! Not I. With my breakfast-friendly yoghurt and honey concoction in hand, I moisturised my muff. I did not resist the urge to eat it.
Verdict: Great snack material. Sweet and delicious. Would eat again.

‘Lastly, pop a vitamin E capsule and massage oil into skin. You now have an upgraded, clean, and smooth vajayjay.’ Unsurprisingly, I had no vitamin E tablets to hand. I hauled ass to the shops to buy some. ‘TWO POUNDS FIFTY FOR THIRTY TABLETS!’ I decried. I begrudgingly dished out the dollar. ‘Is any of this worth it?’ I pondered. ‘Is my foof really this in need of vitality? Won’t some Nivea do?’ I decided that, given the sometimes shoddy visitors I allowed to swing by my nether-regions, it was high time I showed my poonani some lovin’ (and not the shoddy kind the shoddy visitors had shown it). I pierced the tablet with tweezers (turns out they’re not so easy to burst) and poured the golden elixir onto my unmentionables. Oil me up, bay-beh! This was, by far, the most straightforward and successful part of the entire debacle.
Verdict: Wildly disappointed that I couldn’t pop the tablet with my own hands. Nowhere near as satisfying as popping a Persil Liquitab. 5/10.

And that was it. I’d done it. Sort of. My vagina had experienced its very first (and last) amateur vajacial! Did I have an upgraded vajayjay? It smelt better, I’ll give it that. A cleaner vajayjay? If you consider papaya yoghurt a reputable cleaning agent, then yes. A smoother vajayjay? Abso-fucking-lutely not. I think I need some sort of vaginal landscaper for that. Regardless, I shan’t be dipping my fanny into the murky, mango-clad waters of vajacial’ing again anytime soon.

Social image via James Worrell

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