May 9th 2008 : We have a no!no! winner!
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Have you longed for the no!no!? Perhaps, you’ve read all the reviews and really, really want the no!no! but for some reason or another you haven’t been able to get that lovely, hair reduction tool into your hands. What if I were to tell you that one lucky reader will be the owner of a new no!no! – maybe that reader is you!
Here’s how you can enter to win the No!No!:
- In the comments section, tell us your funniest hair removal story.
- We will need your email address – we’ll use it only to contact you if you’re the winner of the contest. Enter your email address in the box provided ( your email address is kept private and will not be visible to others).
Contest ends Wednesday May 7th 2008 (11:59PM EST), at which time the comments section will be closed, so hurry up and get your story in for a chance to win the No!No!.
You may want to subscribe via RSS or EMail. to get the latest information on the winner when she/he is announced.
The details: No!No! retail value: $250. Winner will be announced on Friday May 9th 2008. An email will be sent to the winner and a corresponding blog post will be made announcing the winner. The No!No! will be sent to the winner from Berhman PR. Contest limited to USA only. If we are unable to make contact with the winner within five business days of the first attempt at contact we will contact the runner-up and she/he will be announced as the winner.
Read the Sephora No!No! review.
No!No! trivia of interest: Celebrities who love their no!no!: Melissa Rivers, Hillary and Haylie Duff, and Usher.
Submitted by Ms. distressedDERMA on Monday, 21 April 2008
April 23rd, 2008 at 12:32 pm
Imagine this…a sunny day at the park…my boyfriend planned a picnic date. We had the blanket to sit on, laughter of playing children filled the air and ducks were swimming in the lake. I was enjoying the warmth of the sun and feeling the moment. That was when it happened…he said, “Did you know, you have a lot of facial hair?”
Ouch. Moment gone…enjoyment gone. I sadly remembered how sunshine makes hair more visible. I said, “Well, yeah, but it is blond–everyone has hair on their face. What can I say…I have a hairy family!”
He realized that it wasn’t the smartest thing to say, however true it was. He appologized.
That was one situation that helped confirm my desire to have smooth, hairless skin.
So, I began my journey…my face wasn’t the biggest problem; my legs were. I tried several products with results less than desired–shaving, the stuff that disolves the hair (scary chemical), and waxing. They either hurt too much, didn’t last long enough or were too expensive to try.
Shaving is now my stand by…I have to shave my legs in the morning and am prickly by 5:00p.m. I always wear pajama pants to bed to avoid scratching my hubby’s legs when he snuggles next to me! I should shave at night, too, but I am not committed enough to shave my legs two times a day!
Little did I know that as I aged, the problem would get worse. Horrors. It wasn’t just a problem for my legs, but now more hair on my face. Yes, I saw the little old ladies at the retirement home with whiskers, but that wasn’t going to happen to me. Denial. Denial! Now I fear it may be my fate. I am now facing the dreaded possiblity of needing to “take care” of the hair on my upper lip. It seems to have gotten thicker and darker as I have aged. I don’t know how that happened.
So, if you are wondering about the guy in at the lake, we did get married and have been together now almost 20 years…seems a little extra facial hair and prickly legs from shaving are not a big deal to him. What a guy!
Still, I would like to bask in the sun without fear of anyone noticing my facial hair and not have a 5:00 shadow on my legs.
April 23rd, 2008 at 4:02 pm
My asian hair is so coarse and thick, that right after shaving, even if it feels smooth to touch, you can still see the black hair roots under the skin on my legs!! It is so disappointing after having tried waxing, shaving, creams, even laser hair removal!! I just can’t afford the treatment anymore. Anyway, one night, I was expecting my boyfriend. Then I realized my legs weren’t shaved!! So in that 15 minute frame before he gets here, I ran to the shower and began shaving. While shaving, I cut myself here and there, since I was in such a hurry, but I didn’t see any bleeding so I thought it was little scratshes and nothing more. After the quick shave+shower, I came out all happy and began drying myself. It was all fine until then. When I slapped on lotion on my legs and my arms, I saw BLOODY hands!! omg…I don’t think I was ever more shocked. On both my legs, I was bleeding like a horror movie, at least on four different spots on each legs!
That’s when it began to hurt and this burning sensation was crazy. I was sure my boyfriend was almost here and I panicked! I jumped back in the shower to get the blood off my entire body (at least where the lotion has been). I came out again, cautiously got dressed as I kept on bleeding. I just didn’t seem to stop bleeding! I don’t know why..
In the end I had to put band-aid on 8 different places.
My boyfriend and I ended up laughing at my legs all night and I still have the nicks and bumps on my legs after 1 week! I did have quite deep cuts. Now I have to shave around those scars and it isn’t easy.
Now I’m afraid of shaving!!!!
April 23rd, 2008 at 6:05 pm
I have had many different horrible experiences with hair removal. From dry shaving in my bedroom for the first time when I was 14 to the horrors of the torturous Epilady at age 16 and the rash I got on my legs from Nair when I was 20. I’m now 24 and still the hairiest female I know. The combo of fair skin and dark hair is just so pleasant.
I finally decided to go for it, make the jump, and get waxed. I had been hesitant about waxing because of the obvious, imminent, and what I was sure would be, debilitating pain. So on my first trip to get waxed I walked into a nail salon and was whisked into a back room where I was told to disrobe and lay on the table. The woman walked into the room and started going at it…Did I mention that I chose my bikini as my first waxing experience?
Well apparently not only was this MY first waxing experience, but I’m pretty sure it was hers too. She began to rip the wax away from my skin. I then became introduced to the most horrible pain ever experienced. But I bit my lip and took deep breathes. The woman chuckled every time she ripped off a strip as if mocking my pain. I thought, ‘this must be what it’s like,’ and didn’t say anything to the woman. I looked up at her and noticed she was sweating profusely as if she was running a marathon. After about 35 minutes of torture it was finally over. I drove home defeated and upset that not only had I spent $40 but feared being unable to sit for the next few days due to the pain. But this being my first waxing experience, I didn’t know any different. That is until later when I went to take a shower. The area I had waxed was bruised as if someone had beat me up and was literally missing large pieces of skin. But that’s not the funny part. Here it comes…About 4 days later I had a doctor’s appointment. You know…the regular one that women get once a year. As the doctor started the exam she immediately looked up at me and said ‘what happened to you?!” I told her that those bruises and now scabs were the result of a waxing experience from a few days ago. She finished the exam and then she did something that had never happened to me. She excused herself and told me she would be right back. About 5 minutes later she came in with another person. She introduced her ‘this is Dr. X, she’s a therapist and if there is anything you need to tell her she is here for you.’ Apparently my waxing story was not convincing because the bruises and wounds were so great.
I guess this story wasn’t as much funny as it was horrifying…But it was the one that came to mind. Needless to say… the No!No! sounds like a miracle device.
April 23rd, 2008 at 11:20 pm
So many stories, but this one is my favorite.
When I was a freshman in high school- young, brave and totally headstrong- I decided that I would walk myself over to our local Aveda spa and get myself a snazzy new bikini wax. My family was leaving for a beach vacation, and I thought I would be terribly clever and save myself the hassle of shaving every day. I’d been getting waxed elsewhere for years- eyebrows, legs, no big deal. I figured the bikini area was a logical progression.
I walked in feeling confident that I would leave a
smooth, supple goddess.
Of course, when the receptionist asked me what KIND of bikini wax I wanted, I paused. There are different…kinds…?I thought to myself.
Not wanting to risk looking like a novice teenager, I smiled and said “What’s your most popular?”
The girl looked me up and down, and then responded in a challenging kind of drawl, “Weeellll…most women are just getting the Brazilian now.” She snapped her gum, staring at me as if daring me to ask what exactly a Brazilian was.
Not to be outdone, I gave her a self-satisfied kind of laugh. “Oh, of course” I drawled right back, “The Brazilian.”
I had no idea what either of us were talking about.
I had the faint idea that Brazil was one of those sexy, beachy countries where tanning was an actual profession. Those Brazilians must know what they’re doing, I thought to myself; a “Brazilian” bikini wax must be for people who are go to the beach a lot!
The counter-girl was still staring unabashedly at me, probably waiting for me to bolt out of the spa, screaming. I flipped my hair behind my shoulder, reached into my purse for my wallet, and boldly took out a handful of twenties. My face might have blanced a little when she took three of them, but I pretended as though I was used to these sort of exorbitant fees. I cocked my eyebrow and gave her a look that I hoped said “Lead me to my waxer.”
She scoffed into her frappaccino. “You’re in room 5. With Gerta.”
As I flounced away, she called out after me- “Go ahead and get undressed, she’ll be with you in 10.”
I stepped into the warm, sweet-smelling closet of a room, greeted by the flickering light of candles and some kind of strange, tribal chanting cd. In front of me stood a typical spa-table, on which lay….a towel.
It was at this point I began to panic.
Did I take off all my clothes, and wrap the towel around me, toga-style? Did I leave on my top, and wrap the towel around my bottom-half? Did I strip completely naked and sit on the towel as if this was a Brazilian beach?
There were not, I observed, any specific directions.
I decided to play it safe, and removed my shoes and my pants, leaving rest of my clothes on. I hopped up onto the table, and attempted to look both poised and relaxed. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. I let out a strangled “come in!” and sort of draped the towel over my legs as an afterthought, realizing with a pang of mortification that I was still wearing my hello kitty socks.
Gerta- who resembled my grandmother in such a way that was neither amusing nor comforting- took one look at my semi-clothed state and frowned. “Brazilian, yes?” She asked, somewhat skeptical.
I twisted the towel between my fists. “Yep! That’s me, uh-huh..” I sort of trailed of, and hoped Gerta would have the decency not to laugh at my socks.
She shrugged, and- in one quick motion- pulled the towel off my skinny frame and left me struggling to cover my cotton briefs in a way that was both casual and dignified. I failed at both.
Gerta motioned for me to lie down, and turned her back to stir a pot of wax with one of the giant tongue depressors I had grown to know and loathe. I lay there, staring at the taupe ceiling, biting the inside of my cheeks, and it wasn’t until she had turned back to me, wax in hand, that Gerta acknowledged my clothes. “Take. Off.” She motioned towards my lower-half, and for a second I thought she meant she wanted me to remove my socks. OH. I thought. A bikini wax, right- I should probably…um…ok…well…
And blushing so hard I could have sworn the whole room’s temperature raised a few degrees, I slid my underwear down and laughed- a kind of high pitched, desperate cackle.
It was not until I felt Gerta’s strong, eastern-european hands pushing my legs apart that I began to cry silently. Though I had, of course, anticipated that a bikini wax would involve my bikini area, the shock and terror of the whole situation struck me dumb and senseless.
Gerta remained focused on my trembling, spastic nether regions, and- after a brief inspection of the territory ahead of her, dipped her wooden stick into the pot of molten wax between us.
When the first bit of hot wax touched my lap, I released a yell so immediate, so involuntary, that both Greta and I jumped up off the table, scattering wooden tongue depressors all over the floor. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry– I, Oh-, I have- I forgot, I can’t, I mean, I have to go– I just remembered I have this–” I stammered nonsense as Greta watched, frozen, the waxy-stick still in her hand. I toppled over, naked, and hot wax spilled onto the floor. Grabbing madly for my clothes, I stuffed my underwear into my purse and half-tumbled towards the door, struggling into my pants (backward) on the way.I emerged, shoving my feet into their respective shoes, and practically fell into the stark white waiting area.
Of course, the waiting room itself was full of women, who- in perfect, mind-numbing synchronization, all looked up at the same, perfect moment.
I bolted to the door.
Yelling something about Coming Back Later to the bemused receptionist, I pretty much ran through the parking lot, hair streaming, pants falling off, backwards, my feet tripping over themselves as I traipsed through the afternoon sun, mortified.
Five days later, my family and I left for our vacation.
It was not until my sophomore year that I learned what exactly a Brazilian wax was.
I laugh now, thinking about Greta’s horrified face as she stood, rooted to the spot, and watched me tear out of her waxing room, half naked.
I’ve been successfully getting bikini waxes for 5 years, now.
April 24th, 2008 at 12:50 am
I decided to invest in some laser hair removal because I was tired of getting ingrown hairs in the bikini area. Finally saved up enough money a couple of months ago and bought a package of 5 sessions as the aesthetician told me I would need at least five treatments and that the package deal was cheaper per session. i have never had a professional bikini wax or anything else of that sort and had pretty much used home waxing kits or epilators up until that point. I was a little nervous and uncomfortable when I arrived for my first session. I took of my pants and laid down on the table so that I could get zapped as quickly as possible. The aesthestician strongly recommended removing my underwear so she could zap the hairs more easily. I wasn’t really up for that but also didn’t want to waste my money because she couldn’t zap me as effectively w/ my underwear on. So 5 minutes felt like an eternity as I was sitting in a room w/ fluorescent lights with what felt like shards of glass stabbing me repeatedly. When she was finally done, I hurriedly put my clothes on and ran out the door and boy, was my crotch on fire! I got in the car and started to drive and then realized I left so quickly that I didn’t put my underwear back on!!! Who does that?! I was so embarrassed but decided to let it go…hopefully they wouldn’t know whose it was and would just throw it out. I did return in about a week to have my underarms zapped and was relieved that no one mentioned anything. As I was leaving, the aesthetician asked me if I had left anything behind in my last session. I didn’t know what to say and just stood there and said “um, maybe, I can’t remember.” She handed me a ziploc bag w/ my underwear and I was mortified. I have 3 more sessions which I’ve already paid for and I REALLY don’t want to go back…
April 24th, 2008 at 3:31 am
Thanks for the review! I googled the no!no! to see if people have successfully used this and I thank you for your honesty! I don’t have a funny story, but I just wanted to thank you for being everyone’s guinea pig.
April 24th, 2008 at 10:58 am
I generally have a pretty awful memory but this was indelibly marked on my psyche so I unfortunately remember every detail with terrifying accuracy. I was 16 when I had my first waxing experience. I was going off to a local archeological dig for school and shorts were seemingly part of the uniform so I thought that it was high time I had a full leg and bikini wax, just in the event that there was a cute boy who may have wanted to go swimming at night under the stars.
I was recommended to a nice woman named Susanna, she worked out of her basement (perhaps first alarm bell should have gone off) and was very cheap, but very good so said a friend of my mothers.
When we arrived at Susanna’s house I was much too mature (embarrassed) to have my mom accompany me so rolled my eyes when she offered to hold my hand.
“It hurts a lot, I mean a lot a lot. I ran out half naked screaming for mercy my first time.”
“Mom I have a very high pain tolerance, I will be fine.”
“Ooookay! You’ve been warned, have fun! I’ll go buy some calamine lotion”
So I shooed her off into the car and rang the doorbell of a seemingly innocuous suburban house.
I heard a bit of crashing behind the door and a booming
“I COMINNGK!”
After what seemed like an eternity the door opened. Standing before me was a blond, giant she had no eyebrows save for two squiggly brown lines, her hands could have encompassed my whole horrified face. She said
“Ah! You the new girl, you never have before yes? Okay, come downstairs and take off pants.”
As I stepped inside I was greeted by a throng of eyelashed porcelain kitties and terrifying glass dolls, perhaps she took my confusion as awe and told me that I could “visit with her friends later”. (Second warning bell)
So with thoughts of sunny days dusting off bones with my ruggedly handsome soon-to-be sweetheart in my head; I walked down the stairs into the waxing room. It was very much like I had expected, save for an enormous gold and porcelain crucifix, hanging right above the table which for the duration of my session would stare down at me judgingly. I nervously obliged while my hulking friend puttered around flipping switches stirring things and cutting long strips from a t-shirt. As I mentioned before this was my first time so I had no idea if all of this was normal. I came to the conclusion that it was not, very, very quickly.
I had worn a thong as I was only getting a bikini wax and thought that that would be most appropriate Susanna took one look at my tiny cotton underpants sent an evil look my direction and said
“Devils panties, young boys can see strings and will think you are a whore! You should not wear these things” (1000 warning bells)
I turned about a 100 different shaded of red whimpered some form of acknowledgement looked guilty as I knew that Jesus was watching me in my “devil panties” and clamped my eyes shut as she turned to face the wax.
I will never forget the searing pain of searing hot forest green wax being dolloped on my upper thigh. squeezing back tears I felt her spread the molten goo in a large oblong shape, I open my eyes just long enough to watch her place a long strip of white T-SHIRT(!) on my leg, before I could even register my absolutely confusion I felt what is still perhaps the most painful sensation of my life. In one swift motion she had managed to wax a good 17 inch strip from my upper thigh down to below my knee…all at once, with a t-shirt. My poor skin turned an angry crimson colour.
Perhaps she could see the tears streaming down my face or the abject fear in my eyes but she then told me.
“oh darlingk is nothing, in Ukraine pain is for breakfast we must always look pure and beautiful.”
She then proceeded to slide her hands under my neck and knees and in some feet of super human strength/speed completely flip me over and cover the back of my very red and tender leg with some more wax before I could protest.
I endured (out of stubbornness and fear) a good hour of being flipped, burned and torn at before she pronounced that she was going to finish the job with some evil looking rusty tweezers. I glanced down at my legs to see what look like an abstract painting of hardened green wax, very red skin, some blood here and there and about 1000 stray hairs. Needless to say I declined her offer and took about 20 painful minutes to put my pants on.
I called my mom assuring her that I was just fine and that it hadn’t hurt a bit, she picked me up and watched suspiciously as I walked very bow-legged to the car. After taking about 10 minutes to actually sit down she took one look at my wearied face and burst into laughter.
When I finally got home after an excruciatingly bumpy car ride I decided I would take look at my battle wounds. However, when I tried to take off my jeans I found that for some reason they were firmly glued to my ass…
It seems like Susanna missed a spot and hesitated to tell me I had a saucer sized chunk of wax hardened on my ass, which the heated seats in our car had actually fused to my jeans. After a long (jeans-on) soak in the tub, and finally resorting to pair of scissors all whilst my mother was laughing hysterically I was free.
I never did meet my Indiana Jones and my hair grew in a few days later but I had a newfound, pathological fear of waxing that still remains to this day.
April 25th, 2008 at 5:29 pm
My harrowing experience happened a few years ago, a couple of months after I moved in with my boyfriend. I decided to try an at-home waxing kit for the first time, since I was sick of shaving every day and none of my other options (nair, etc.) had worked very well. Standing in the drugstore, I decided on a Sally Hansen kit that came with some analgesic after-waxing lotion. I’d gotten my eyebrows done professionally every three weeks since I was 16, so I know that the lotion they apply afterward feels terrific. The box promised results that lasted up to eight weeks, so I was incredibly excited to get home and try it out. I’d never been hairless for longer than a day, so eight weeks sounded almost unbelieveable. I started first with my eyebrows using the included shaping kit. Aside from bits of left over wax that needed to be scrubbed/tweased away, I was quite impressed with the results. I decided then to try it on my legs. Scooping some of the previously microwaved goo out of the tub and spreading it onto a large portion of my leg, I started to feel quite hesitant about my conquest. I pressed on, however, placing a strip of the sheet over the wax and rubbed it in to be certain it grabbed every last bit of hair. I waited a few seconds before taking a deep breath and -rip!- pulling at the sheet with all my strength. Pain. Overwhelming pain seared through my body and a horrifying scream burst from deep within my lungs. I looked down, noting that I hadn’t even removed the entire strip but only a tiny portion, less than half an inch. Defeated, I slumped back against the wall as my boyfriend rushed in, panicked. I explained to him what I was trying to do and he shuffled through the box, retrieving the analgesic lotion. I slathered it onto the section that I’d ‘waxed’ but no relief ever came. I begged him to pull it off the rest of the way and finally, he gave in. I braced myself and just as he went to pull it off, I screamed, begging him not to. He decided that we should first try to remove it without pulling, and busted out the hairdryer. After five minutes on high heat, the wax hadn’t even began to melt, so we decided to drape a hot rag over it, but that was a no-go as well. Eventually, we both gave up on trying to remove it peacefully and he gave it a yank, removing the first strip. Unfortunately, I’d put three more strips on, so after giving me a rest, he pulled each one off. Large chunks of wax remained, but I decided to put off trying to remove it until the next day. We liberally applied the lotion to my beet-red skin and decided to call it a night. The next morning as scoured the rest of the wax chunks off, I swore to never wax my legs again!
April 26th, 2008 at 12:45 pm
Bikini waxing is expensive so sometimes I buy SurgiWax bikini wax. One day I decided to wax all of my private parts. My hands and nails and bathroom were stuck with wax. Not only that my private parts had wax stuck to them. I tried unsuccessfully to get the wax off. The wax worked though. For days would find that more hair would be stuck to my panties with the wax. Now I try to follow directions more.
April 27th, 2008 at 4:54 pm
I am Italian, and so it must be expected and understood that I have terrible, horrible, thick, black leg and underarm hair. I was (and still am!) the girl who must shave twice a day when in a bathing suit. This I might add is quite painful when at the beach because the salt water stings your legs so badly that you randomly yelp while strangers wade around you.
During my sophomore year of college my girlfriends and I took a class field trip to the Cleveland Art Museum for our Art History class. We started chit-chatting and the conversation took a turn from cute summer attire to hair removal methods. Mine were basic, depilatories (which always burned and sometimes caused me to bleed) and shaving. Our chich, European trained professor heard our complaints and told us how European women use epilators and how she’d been using one for years. Apparently it just rips the hair out and you can use it whenever! Without much surprise, this became my new obsession; I had to have one ASAP. My hair problems would be gone. Finally hair would be ripped out for weeks and my legs, bikini line and underarms would be as smooth as a baby’s butt! I would no longer have to shave twice a day when at the beach! When arriving back at the dorms, I immediately went online and ordered the first one I saw on target.com.
My epilator arrived 2 weeks later and I eagerly ripped open the package. After hastily reading the directions, I was ready to go. I locked my dorm room door, put on some music and stripped down to my bra and panties-I was ready for hair free, care free days to begin. My professor said the process was virtually painless, so I thought “What the hell,” and gingerly put the device on my bikini area and flipped the switch to on. Immediately I began to scream-I had never experienced pain like this. Like many women, I thought “No pain, no gain, and continued to move the epilator over my bikini line all while letting out shrieks and yells. I figured the that my background music was hiding my shrieks so continuing was safe. Boy was I wrong.
My roommate, Emily, was coming back from class and heard the shrieking coming from our room. She saw the boy’s floor Resident Assistant (my crush, Dan) patroling the hall and grabbed him for help. Emily unlocked the door and they both stood in the doorway. There I was, in my panties and bra, shrieking while moving the epilator along my bikini line. I didn’t even notice them standing there until Emily turned off the music; I was too busy trying to rip the hairs out of my skin. Finally, I looked up and saw them standing there. I. WANTED. TO. DIE. After trying to explain what I was doing Emily cleverly suggested that I keep the screaming down next time. Dan snickered and walked out the the room-thankfully he never mentioned the incident again.
Since then, I have used the epilator randomly. I forge through the pain for special occasions only but I’ve learned to warn my family of my shrieking side effects while using the evil device. Don’t want to get caught again screaming, with my pants down while gliding some scary device around my bikini area!!!