I first became aware of the term vajazzle around the same time that some sadistic TV Producer decided The Only Way – out of all other possiblities – Way Is Essex (TOWIE, if you prefer). It’s bad enough that every single female who comes out of Essex is invariably associated with fake tan, fake tits and tacky tatts; however the Essex Girl stereotype, thanks to the growing popularity of TOWIE, has now extended to include a diamanté-encrusted vagina.
Now, I’m all for freedom of choice and expression, and if the cast of TOWIE want to express themselves by sticking gems onto their bits, then good for them. “When in Rome”, as they say. But Soho is not Rome, or rather Essex, so imagine my surprise when I saw that Punk nightclub, host to the infamous Your Mum’s House every Thursday night, was promoting their TOWIE themed evening with the promise of free vajazzles. Um, WHAT?! As a dedicated fan of Your Mum’s House, I am aware that the themed nights aim to be topical, trashy and slightly tongue-in-cheek. But the whole vajazzle thing, as far as I’m concerned, is beyond ironic: it’s a feminist nightmare. The objectification of the female genitalia is something that should be reviled and shunned in this day and age, not encouraged.
…what on earth do they put in the adhesive formula?
Moral arguments aside, the health implications of gluing rhinestones to your nether regions are also troubling. According to TOWIE’s very own Amy Childs (and who could possibly know better), it’s not safe to keep one’s vajazzle in place for more than 24 hours, which begs the question: what on earth do they put in the adhesive formula? And, following the rise in publicity and popularity of the vajazzle, is it wise to sell DIY vajazzle kits to the general public? Particularly when the average vajazzle consumer, though they may sparkle down below, are stereotypically not so bright overall.
Phases come and go, and if vajazzling had stayed on Britain’s reality TV screens and away from the general public, I’d be more than happy to live and let live. But the idea of such a heinous phenomenon becoming an acceptable part of modern British society begs belief. I’ve tried to look at it dispassionately, I really have, but the idea of jazz-ifying one’s vagina has left me more befuddled than bedazzled.