Given that I am a 30-year-old woman, I have a long and storied relationship with hair removal that spans more than half my life. I recall shaving in my early teens, in secret, before there was any need. This was shortly after the special assembly we had in the nurse’s office on the topic of “hygiene.” The idea of beltless sanitary napkins and training bras was very exciting, you see.

By the time I reached high school, however, I decided that shaving was a tool of the patriarchy and promptly stopped altogether. I reasoned that in doing so, my dating pool would be self-selecting, and those who weren’t enlightened enough to appreciate me for who I was wouldn’t even bother to approach me. What I think ultimately happened was that a number of my suitors just had very low standards.

Moving along, I resumed shaving around 20 or 21. I seem to recall it was a matter of practicality, as I was living in the South and working in an environment in which short sleeves and skirts were considerably more comfortable than the sartorial modesty to which I was confining myself. Because the only other women my age in South Carolina who wore long skirts and didn’t shave were Pentecostals, I came to the conclusion that it'd be better to work on subverting the patriarchy after I quit my job at the Chino and Tattersall Emporium.

After that, I surprised myself, going full-tilt into hair removal: eyebrow waxing, bikini-area grooming, and even attempting—with tragically mixed results—home leg waxing.

On moving to NYC, I made a brief foray into eyebrow threading, a fad that (regardless of what its acolytes claim) is really a form of medieval torture.

I then moved on to the final frontier: the Brazilian. For those of you who are unfamiliar, most practitioners of this art form are actually war criminals in hiding. If you’ve had more than ten Brazilians, it makes what the women of the OSS endured during WWII seem like the Junior League.

In outlining this history, I can say with certainty that I am well versed in cosmetic discomfort.

With respect to the Satin Ice, I remember when my best friend in junior high received the debut Epilady, which resembled an electric mixer minus the beaters (or a robotic lamprey designed by Survival Research Labs) and sounded like one too. The underside had a series of inter-looping coils. It looked vaguely medical, not unlike marital aids of the 50s and 60s. She claimed that it didn't hurt too much and I tried it once. It was rather unpleasant, and seemed quite literally a tool of the patriarchy–perhaps something developed at the School of the Americas.

Flashing forward to This Year's Model, which arrived in an adorable shiny silver-blue package—hence its new moniker–I was surprised at its small and streamlined evolution. I read through the long and somewhat off-putting instructions—I popped the icepack into the freezer and waited. At that same moment, I noted with pleasure that there was a bottle of Smirnoff that was already plenty chilled. (NB: It is not advisable to attempt hair removal under the influence of alcohol.)

When it was ready, I put the components together (without difficulty, Smirnoff or no) and flicked it on. Lo and behold, there was that familiar high-pitched bandsaw-like grinding noise! Remember your friend’s dad, the one who used to jump behind the sofa when a car backfired outside? Yeah, well, I had a flash of PTSD and was fearful of actually touching the Satin Ice to my leg. I took a deep breath and persevered. Its bark, it turns out, is worse than its bite.

It's important to note that the absolute first thing that a Satin Ice user should do before beginning the process is put her (head) hair in a ponytail. I cannot stress this enough.

After experimenting with various positions—standing and bending over; standing with leg on the rim of the tub—I discovered that the ideal one, for me, was sitting on the toilet with my leg extended slightly above my head with my foot resting on the wall opposite the toilet. Anyone who has ever lived in NYC will note that most bathrooms here are perfectly proportioned for such a snug maneuver.

As I said, removing the leg hair on the lower half of both legs was easy and mostly painless, and this could be attributed to the fact that I have waxed them in the past. As a sort of double-blind test, I tried the Satin Ice on my thighs, where I never shave, because I am married (HAR! And ladies, what about that time of the month? AM I RIGHT?) and the hair is much softer. This was dramatically more uncomfortable, though not unbearably so.

The areas where hair removal was really the most cringe inducing were the ankles and knees. While doing so, I employed a variety of deep breathing techniques and realized in actuality what bad motherfuckers those guys with the spiderweb tattoos on their elbows are. Seriously. They say you get those after you kill people. I think I might could handle one now.

One of the downsides of the Satin Ice (and of waxing) is that your leg hair has to be a certain length in order to be successfully yanked out. Even after a couple passes, there remained a few rogue hairs (not unlike the surface of my chin), but overall I was satisfied with the results and found that once I got the hang of it, the process didn't take much more time than ordinary shaving would. And since I shave once every six to eight weeks, I can say with certainty that use of this new device will certainly fit into my beauty routine.

The instructions from Dr. Mengele the Philips-Norelco higher-ups encouraged us to use all of the accoutrements that came with the Satin Ice, so I decided to go with the razor attachment. I have considerable experience with what are known in the adult entertainment industry as "personal grooming devices" and actually own the FeatherTouch, which is a delightful ergonomically designed bikini-area razor that produces super-smooth results. Satin Ice, I have met the FeatherTouch, and you, sir, are no FeatherTouch.

While I found the trimming razors on the side to be serviceable, and the center detailer to be fairly effective, they just weren't as good at really cleaning up those--ahem--difficult-to-reach areas. Satin Ice users who are advanced Kundalini yoga practitioners might have a different experience, however.

Finally, I decided to use the exfoliator attachment, which didn't seem particularly interesting, but I knew I was required as a true investigative journalist, and, well, focus group participant, to use everything that came in the bag. As it turns out, I think that the exfoliator is useful, if not for its intended purpose, but for easing the more skittish Satin Ice users into actual hair removal. For those who are intimidated by the Satin Ice's exceedingly loud motor, the exfoliator is a simple, benign attachment that doesn't seem to do much of anything, but it certainly helps accustom the user to the droning noise. In fact, I recommend that the instructions be amended to suggest the novice to begin with the exfoliator attachment.

Perhaps I am in the minority, being intimidated by loud noises produced by personal grooming products. In fact, in a straw poll of my close personal friends, I am apparently the only one frightened by the sounds of, for example, cards being shuffled and CDs being placed into their cases. For the record, the Satin Ice doesn't compare to a sonic boom, but it's still pretty close to a miniature Cuisinart.

All in all, I found the Satin Ice to be a more than satisfactory hair removal experience. (I find myself surprised to be writing that sentence. Hair removal is not something I’ve ever given much thought to, frankly. Even as someone who has clearly become a tool of the patriarchy in many ways, I couldn’t care less about hair removal experiences, satisfactory or otherwise. But this one was, indeed, satisfactory.) I think that its pluses are its ease of use, its small size, and the infrequency one needs to actually perform the routine. The biggest drawback is the fact that you'll never achieve a truly smooth leg—it will look, from a distance, quite clean, but when you run your hand over your gams, you will feel stray hairs. This might be a problem for some the type of people who truly crave something beyond a satisfactory hair removal experience (to whom I say: keep reaching for that brass ring, girls!). As far as the discomfort goes, it's really pretty negligible, especially in comparison to, say, a waxing. The fact that it requires a power cord is another drawback, as it means that for the girl on the go, a quick touch up in the back of a cab is out.

It’s funny. When you’re putting a small, primitive machine against your leg with the express purpose of yanking your leg hair out, you start to wonder just how far we’ve progressed as a culture. It wasn’t too long ago that people used giant fake moles to cover up smallpox scars; in Elizabethan times, women painted blue veins on their faces; and I seem to recall that the Romans thought that eyebrows that met in the middle were awfully pretty on a gal. I’d theorize that in the future people would laugh at us for yanking our hair out with machines, but because the human race will all be dead within the next 100 years, I think we’ll all have the last laugh, won’t we?

Edited to add: The ice pack attachment is a value-added innovation that I glossed over before. It numbs your skin before you rip the hairs out, and is rather soothing. If you need something like that. Unless you're a badass motherfucker such as myself.