One of the reasons I love London so much is that there's so much to discover. Since moving to Highbury a couple of months ago I have tried my hardest to try as much as I can in my local area - avoiding the comfort of the expected in chains and importantly not using public transport to get somewhere when I could just walk to a local joint.
And this is how I ended up walking into Zoraza, just down the road from me, rather than get the tube into town to make use of a waxing voucher I had.
It's not the most preposessing place from the outside, rose pressed flower paper excepted, and was rather lifeless when I walked in, loaf of bread in hand, looking at my least glamorous. Something I'd have felt awful at the prospect of down in Mayfair. But the girls here were lovely and booked me in for an appointment an hour later. I went back and was quickly ushered down the steepest stairs in the world to a lovely underground lair of a treatment room by a charming Russian lady from Latvia. Boys - you may wish to stop reading here - girl talk ahead!
Now, they say the devil is in the detail, and surely this is at its truest when it comes to waxing. Not only in the attentiveness of the waxer, but also in the attention to the little things in the room. I had a towel laid on the floor so I didn't have to walk on the tiles, and a couple of steps set out so I could climb onto the bed (not strictly necessary for me as clearly I can leap about, moreso for the older clientele I shuppose). Same detail goes into the waxing. Not a place you'd go for a quick in-out wax - it's all done a tiny bit at a time, with a quick detail check with the pointed tweezers afterwards. Waxing lady likes it this way - I'm inclined to agree. I was there for about half an hour.
So yet another big fat amen to local business triumphs. Zoraza, I salute you!
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