Vajazzalation, It’s what you need. Or is it?

Let us talk of things other than houses, house prices and weather.  We are all becoming so very British, and it is not attractive at all.  Let us talk instead about the word vajazzle.

Oh yes.  This word entered my lexicon for the first time this weekend.  I read a twitter feed where someone was talking about it, and I wanted to know more.

I have looked on the Urban Dictionary site, and it tells me that it is the act of adorning one’s vagina with swarovski crystals to give it more allure.  If you don’t believe me you can  see it here (the definition, not the vajazzle in action.  It is NOT that kind of site thank you).

It is then, a verb: I vajazzle, you vajazzle, he/she/it vajazzles etc.  Apparently if the procedure has been carried out upon your person you have been vajazzled. 

Maybe if you want an excuse not to go out on a date, and washing your hair seems too lame, you can say: ‘I’m sorry Friedrich, I cannot go to the sausage smorgasbord with you this evening. I will be far too busy vajazzling.’

Who knew?

I thought having jewels stuck to your teeth with Bostik was a bit extreme (and mostly made the person in question look like they had a stubborn bit of spinach trapped in their dentures. Definitely not alluring), but clearly I am so square as to be practically cuboid when it comes to self adhesive body jewellery.

I am somewhat fascinated by this procedure (and repelled in equal parts).  I want to know everything.  For example, I suppose it is only suitable for those ladies who have had a Brazilian, or something near to it.  If one has a full head of lady garden hair I imagine glueing sequins to it is going to be tricky, bordering on impossible. If one wishes to have jewellery style adornments of this nature without waxing, I suspect threading beads through your pubes is the only way to go.  A kind of bejewelled rasta look, only downstairs.

So, first you wax, or epilate or shave.  Whatever.  I say this dismissively as if it were a mere bagatelle. For those lady readers (or men. Who am I to judge?) who attend to such matters I am aware that it is not that easy, and mostly involves crouching in ungainly positions which only Sting and Madonna should know about in the privacy of their own homes, whilst flinging hot wax around or worse, rotivating.  If one is doing it alone it is devilish tricky and requires bendiness and a steady hand. If one is having it done it requires bendiness and a lack of shame that would make a vicar blush.

Once that hurdle is passed we turn to the jewels and the glue which must then be applied.

I have three children.  We do a lot of craft.  I have an intimate working knowledge of types of glue I previously never even knew existed. I am also hot on glitter, sequins, feathers and beads.  Just sticking them to a piece of sugar paper neatly is a living nightmare of epic proportions.  Generally after half an hour of glueing and sticking I emerge smothered in glitter from head to foot with large dollops of scummy, grey, peeling glue adhering to my skin like bedraggled mummy bandages.  I cannot imagine the hell that would ensue were I to be wielding a glue gun near my vagina armed with a packet of swarovski crystals.

How could one sensibly go to Accident and Emergency with one’s labia glued together and covered in baby pink crystals?

The shame.

You would have to be mad to do this on your own. Which means taking your newly depilated vagina to a vajazzling shop near you and asking for professional help.

Now, I don’t know about where you live, but in this neck of the woods, most beauty treatments are carried out by permatanned sixteen year olds who failed GCSE woodwork and decided the only way forward was a career in panel beating or as a beautician.  They only have a vocabulary of about four hundred words and try to use less.  The most frequent sentence which spills from their lips is: ‘Are you goin’ anywhere nice on yer ‘olidays this year?’  They have a GNVQ level two in filing nails and looking gormless.

It is they then, who should be let loose near your naked and now trembling vagina with their glue gun at the ready.

This is a terrifying thought.

And what do you say to them?  What happens when they ask you what style you were thinking of?

Is it like a tattoo parlour where they show you a book containing ‘here’s some I inked earlier’? Will there be photographs of balding lady gardens adorned with the face of the Virgin Mary or a foxes brush disappearing into the pudenda?

How do you choose? What happens if they are artistically leprous and you ask for Elvis looking come hither, and get Mrs. Overall, or worse, someone who looks like your dad?

Is that erotic? I think not.

Plus, is it erotic full stop? I do not know much about men, and what I do know is baffling and largely contradictory, but I think it unlikely that many men care if your vagina is embossed with sequins. I think the fact that you are letting them get within spitting distance of it in the first place should be enough to make them grateful and horny, without having to be blinded by the sight of a dolphin leaping through crystal waters when you pull your undercrackers down.  Isn’t it more likely to put them off stride completely? I know it would me if it were the other way around.  If Jason pulled down his boxers to reveal the blinging face of Jeremy Clarkson for example, I would probably expire on the spot.

And how long do they last? Even with a Brazilian, you get regrowth. I do not think a sparkling butterfly created out of cut glass sequins is going to look quite so hot with three week old stubble poking through its wings.

Maybe you deal with this by having the whole vaginal area done, and having the gaps in between lightly grouted, in a kind of vajazzle style crazy paving. It would have to be fairly adhesive wouldn’t it? That’s going to be heavy, and you don’t want to cough and have it drop off onto someone’s shoe at work for example.

It would also be fairly dazzling. If you are going to get up close and frisky with someone after such extensive vajazzling you may want to issue a health and safety warning, or possibly dark glasses. It’s no good blinding someone when you finally do reveal the lady garden of desire, or making them think you have inadvertently caused the second coming,  with the face of Jesus and a lot of excess shininess.

On a more practical note, do the crystals drop off in the bath and get stuck in your u-bend? Do they drop off anywhere else? What if you are in Topshop changing room, pulling your tights down in order to try that body con dress without vpl, only to find that the Sistine chapel in crystals has fallen down round your ankles, and has to be hoovered up by a fifteen year old shop assistant with the giggles?  What if you are involved in the very act of lurve with a man who is in fact turned on by a blinging vaj, only to have him attend to matters down there orally and come up looking like Jaws from James Bond?  That would never do.  What if he gets them stuck on his truncheon of love, or worse, inside you?  Again with the whole A&E shame thing.

On balance I have decided against it.  The most erotic Jason and I get in this freezing cold house is to go to bed without our socks on.  I cannot imagine having to strip down to show him the Charge of the Light Brigade.  Blue goose bumps would add nothing to the final effect.  Plus I would only sulk when he fell about laughing, and have to divorce him when I a) bung up the already knackered bathroom pipes and b) tell him how much it costs.