Strip Wax Bar: Review

If I were to revert back to the point at which I remember in the lead up to my very first wax, you’d have found my head in a packet of paracetamol, knocking back enough of a dose that would potentially mask the pain of a hundred tiny hairs being torn out of your private parts, while also Googling the latest forum of ‘How painful is a bikini wax?’.

Suffice to say, 8 or so years on, I’d probably still opt for the packet of paracetamol because I’m still yet to establish enough of a pain threshold that my body can actually handle that of a bikini wax. It still remains a god-awful experience of pain and irritation while also handing over my bank card to pay a small fortune for such torture.  

So, through a life of pain and strip waxing, I was delighted at the idea of being offered an intimate hot wax at Strip Wax Bar. It had the word intimate, so I felt feel sure in thinking it would be easy on the ol’ pain receptors, no? 

Strip Wax bar are a leading hair removal specialist and an iconic luxury British brand, with a number of chains in and around London. They pride on being “armed with the best waxing products for all skin types and a complete knowledge of the full waxing” and “ensuring a virtually pain-free wax”. I was immediately on board.

The Treatment

Although they had numerous other locations in London near me, I opted for their Islington branch, conveniently located on Upper Street and a mere 30-odd minute power walk from my work’s office (building up a sweat is exactly what you need before an intimate wax).

They’ve certainly nailed their marketing strategies, by combining a waxing studio alongside selling specially curated collection of high-end lingerie, swimwear, skincare and activewear in their boutiques, also. If you’re not swayed by their selection of lace and elegant lingerie after a fresh wax, then you’re probably too far into a relationship or you’re not doing single life right.

After being formally introduced to the beautician who was looking after me, shaking hands seemed somewhat too courteous seeing as I was about to expose more of my body to her than I probably have done my mum since that age of 6 or 7. 

Lying down and propped up comfortably, I settled in, spread-eagled across the bed, feeling lucky that I was able to watch a TV screen in front of me and avoid having to have the “so do you have any summer plans?” conversation that inevitably comes with many beauty treatments. 

The wait for the pain begins…

An intimate hot wax means applying the wax over the area, waiting for the wax to cool and peeling the wax off itself.

Still waiting for the pain to start…

The beautician reassuringly asked whether I was comfortable

Just get the pain over with.

Time had elapsed, as did the cooling process.

No pain!!

Overall the treatment lasted about 30 minutes, but it was the least painful, most comfortable waxing experience I’ve so far had in my 8 years of discovering waxing. I genuinely didn’t feel a lot of pain at all. 

The beautician made a point of explaining why hot wax is so much more preferable (more so than from a pain point of view) over strip waxing, is the effect hot waxing has on the hairs afterwards. She explained the damage that strip waxing can have on the hairs and the damage so far it had done to mine and the irritability it can cause during aftergrowth. Safe to say, I’m converted to hot waxing from here on out, though does the wax always have to be brown in colour? Let’s think about the area we’re applying this wax to here…

My experience of the place was fantastic and treatments aside, the staff were helpful, pleasant and clearly knew their stuff too. The number of people walking in and out for their range of treatments they offer speaks for itself. 

Though taking into consideration we’re in the centre of London, the Brazilian treatment I had would set you back £49 which in comparison to many other chains and brands, it stands relatively low in the affordability rankings. But you can’t put a price on pain and comfort.

For some of their other treatments, they have:

Staycation Package – For those wanting a summer glow for seasonal events or parties. It includes a full body spray tan, any bikini wax (if I haven’t yet convinced you to go for the intimate one, then do!) and an eyebrow wax for £89.

The Festival Freedom Package – While we’re well into the festival season, there’s still time to get prepped and fresh for the next one. This includes an underarm wax, any bikini wax, ½ leg wax, brow wax plus one small extra wax area of choice for £99. Anyone else now want to be a little more hairless?

The Beach Bum Package – For those wanting to hit the pool or sea with minimum maintenance or panda eye potential. It includes any bikini wax, full leg wax and a brow and lash tint for £99 also. 

To book any appointments or find out more about their packages, you can visit their website at where you can also find the individual numbers for specific locations.


Coffee Shop Cliché

If I could give you all a perfect representation of the stereotypical depiction of white girl in a coffee shop, I’d need only turn on my laptop’s camera and you’d have the complete visionary right in front of you now.

However, for the sake of my hate for selfies and generally all photos of myself, I’ll leave it to your imagination. But here’s an edgy photo to portray said situation…


Plus, when I went to (try) complete said selfie task, only double chin prevailed, and I was not about to set about finding the perfect angle through means of a laptop camera in a public place. That, and the fact that sweaty, helmet hair and wind-flushed cheeks are in full force right now, seeing as the second segment of the cycle ride to get here has just been completed. So let’s just say, I’m not looking at Activewear’s best.

So yes, I am white girl in a coffee shop with a fully functional, open MacBook to just add to the visionary and did I mention I’m also wearing activewear? The Macbook FYI, that was supposed to remain a tool for work, but when your personal laptop is HP’s first released version in 1999, that weighs more than a small human, this sleek device I’ve been forever missing out on sits much more comfortably in the depths of my super cool rucksack than what the other laptop would. Apparently, the only aspect actually missing from this visage, is that of the white, sugary coffee to complete the Frapalapacapuccino they serve nowadays, where I’ve instead settled for a single espresso – how it should be on Coffee Tour 2k17 (I’ll get to this shortly).

So maybe it’s not quite the stereotypical, white girl visionary I was intentionally heading towards – that obviously just comes naturally – but instead more just a dorky cyclist that’s decided to spend a rare, free Saturday stamping two of the independent coffee shops in London’s Coffee Guide Book, 2017.

I’ll first touch on ‘rare, free Saturdays’, then the exciting and thrilling journey that this ‘Coffee Tour 2k17’ is going to take. Let me stress, this isn’t actually its given name, I’m not sure I’m that sad…

After a truly wondrous (think I can still say that) afternoon was recently spent, Boris Biking through the not so bike-friendly roads of London, demolishing chocolate, on top of chocolate mochas, I’d never felt more of an incentive to finally side step trying to do a full-time Monday to Friday job, as well as a weekend job elsewhere. However, when you want to live and work in London and still afford to eat (yes I actually do that shit now), sometimes having a life gets somewhat sacrificed in the process; hence the 7 day working weeks.

But as of August, this will be no more! As I’ve finally bitten the bullet, realised I liked life on weekends, and instead sacrificed the extra dollar for a bit of caffeine, cycling-filled fun… You’d have thought I’d want to start potentially weekend city jetting to make up for all those lost weekends, but no; just bikes, brews and solitary bantz.

Combining this new found love I’ve got for cycling my way around London, with my love for black coffee – a love that was only really discovered because I’d run a terrified mile away from any added calorie during the worst parts of my eating disorder, I’ve now formed this somewhat ambition to try every independent coffee shop mentioned in ‘The London Coffee Shop Guide’, which was recently passed on to me. The cycling only comes in as a means of transport to get between said coffee shops, where each week I will visit two more located in opposite parameters of London.

Though I by no means claim to be a coffee connoisseur, I can at least pluck out the instant coffee from the Barista-brewed (I think?), even when you are paying top dollar for the Nescafe Gold Blend coffee from Tesco. So although some form of rating system would be a top notch addition to these little weekend adventures, I’ve decided I’d much rather just soak in the atmosphere, the people and the achievement of actually making it alive to the coffee shop without being knocked off my bike en route. That and the fact that I’ll probably be paying a small fortune for each one of these little gems so that will no doubt influence my tasting thoughts.

So with full explanations in order, I sit now in coffee shop number 149 in the book, ‘Coffee7’ (Forest Gate), after previously sitting in coffee shop number 3, ‘The Borough Barista’ (Marble Arch), with my MacBook in hand and a slightly worrying shake in my circulatory system. I am fully kitted out in activewear, probably looking like some sad, lonely (slightly creepy), spinster and I could not give two shits because I am feeling super liberated… and maybe possibly a bit too caffeinated.

Coffee and cycling are a great combination in my eyes and I’m pretty damn excited for the next one. So from the corner of a cosy seat in East London’s Sebert Road… Bottoms up!


That’s enough caffeine for one day.

Sorry I was late…

You’d have thought after a few weeks that the novelty of the London commute would’ve worn off by now and it’s only upon reflection do I question why it hasn’t yet. Apart from the people that insist waiting an extra minute for the next Victoria line train is far too long, so decide to squeeze in to the already rammed carriage and ignore all warning of the closing doors, or the passengers that lack a serious concept of urgency (or general lack of fitness), that can’t move any faster for people like me that insist I WILL make it to the overground with 3 seconds to spare, I really actually don’t mind the commute. So much so, that I was still planning to have my birthday on an actual tube… except it’s not really a tube, it’s called Cahoots and it’s a restaurant and it’s just designed like a tube.

Embarking on the commute comes with having started a new internship in recent weeks. Commute aside, I’ve had to take on several other new challenges: the hardest being to try and overcome the anxiety that has aroused when eating lunch around new people followed by the awkward explanation to the mass of confused expressions of why I’m not indulging in the mouth-watering pizza that everyone else is eating in the office. I’m fooling no one when I say that my banana is more appetizing.

Food aside, I’ve also faced the almighty challenge that has come with deciding what outfit to wear each morning. Though I could undoubtedly rock up in just a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt due to the nature of my office, if I’m going to blend in with the general persona of Knightsbridge, you bet I’m going to strut my stuff in Primark’s latest office wear collection.

Where I’ve been so used to wearing a uniform that is as unflattering as ever, having worked in a leisure centre before this internship, I’ve long forgotten what it’s like to have to ensure you’re looking at your clothing best every day. This hit me at its worse last week, where the eating disorder desire to constantly hit perfection and not have a shred of evidence that I have any fat anywhere on my body and I was late for work.

Though I blamed it on train delays – which if you’re travelling on the London Overground, it pretty much guarantees you aren’t lying anyway – I was in fact rushing around the nearest clothing retailer looking for clothes. I felt so fat and so hideous in what I’d chosen to wear that day, that I’d almost considered turning around and going home after almost breaking down in tears on the train.

Perhaps I looked fine in what I was wearing, perhaps there wasn’t really that much excess back fat hanging over the side of my bra and perhaps my arms didn’t look like someone had attached a hammock to my tricep and was swinging merrily in the wind.

The point being that an eating disorder can still creep up on you at times where you still just don’t expect it. When I thought my confidence was on an up-turn, you’re taken 100 steps back because anorexia says you’ve gotten too fat. Sod you!