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At first, it freaked me out, but now I'm getting used to it. After a few weeks, the stubble, calluses, chipping, chapping and split ends started to grow on me. Quite literally.

Upon recently moving to London, I found out the strangest thing: Englishwomen don't really groom. And even when they do, it's not in the same manner to which their North American sisters are accustomed, i.e. obsessively and all the time.

When I graduated from university and moved back to Toronto a few years back, the first thing I did was make an appointment for a haircut, manicure and eyebrow wax. The second thing I did was join a gym. The third was look for a job.

Upon arriving in London, the first thing I did was go out for a beer. My drinking companions were both women, one English, the other an American who has been living in Britain for 20 years. Anxious to make a few fundamental appointments, I asked them which was the best neighbourhood place for a waxing.

"Wax. Right," said the English girl, pausing to think. "Hey, isn't there a place around Covent Garden where they do that?"

The American turned to me sympathetically. "People aren't really into that sort of thing here," she explained.

"You mean you just let it . . ."

"Bloody right we do," said the Englishwoman.

Nail shops, I have repeatedly been informed, have recently become "all the rage" in London. To a Londoner, this means that there are now several places around town where one can pay the equivalent of $90 for the privilege of getting a manicure/pedicure that would set you back 20 bucks in Toronto.

Nail care is seen as an exotic pastime here, rather than the banal feminine ritual it is. Most of the manicure shops that do exist are called "New York Nails" or "Hollywood Aesthetics" or some variant on the U.S.-import theme. And they are generally packed with immigrant women. Nary a Bridget or Phillipa in sight.

Turns out that the English, for all their legendary tiaras and hats and ceremonial sash-donning, just don't seem to give a toss about grooming. When they arrive in Canada or the United States (or most of continental Europe, for that matter), Englishwomen are often astonished by the time, energy and expense we corn-feeders put into plucking, filing and exfoliating.

Vogue columnist Plum Sykes complained bitterly about the social pressure to preen shortly after she moved from London to New York. And my pal Diana, a born and bred Londoner who, like most of her mates, is desperate to move to L.A., seconds the complaint. While the climate is soothing, she finds the primping intimidating. "It's just mad. All they do in California is wax and pluck and exercise and not drink or smoke. Where do they find time?"

Perhaps the English non-grooming tradition stems from the fact that women here are generally less hung up about their bodies. Example: In a recent interview in New Woman, the Cosmo-type gal mag, West End actress Denise Van Outen said the following of her breasts: "I preferred them when they were bigger. I'm trying to get them back, but I'm trying to keep fit as well. I know that if I don't work out and eat lots, I get my figure back really quickly. I came off the Pill as well and the minute you go on the Pill, because it's tricking your body into pregnancy mode, you blow up. The breasts I used to have are what I'd look like if I were pregnant."

Can you imagine any famous North American actress talking about her body in such open and unpretty terms in the press? It's unthinkable.

But make no mistake, it's not that English women worry less about their bodies than North American women -- just that they can't be bothered to do anything about it. It was this charming and human trait that made readers love Bridget Jones.

Then there is Nigella Lawson, a women so obsessed with her weight she made a name for herself in North America by going on about it ad nauseam on her last cookbook tour. She admitted in the New York Times magazine to dreading her arrival in the United States because she finds New York women so thin. Of course, she pretends not to care, but who believes her? Women who actually don't care about their weight don't talk constantly about it.

North American women love Nigella for being an exotic combination of fleshy, dishevelled and famous (she is slated to appear in a photo spread in the "Shape Issue" of American Vogue, edited by the terrifyingly put-together Anna Wintour), while most English women I've spoken to cringe at her name. For them, the fact that Nigella has a big bum and messy hair is not enough to make up for her other irritating traits, namely that she is rich, beautiful, pedigreed and not much of a cook.

As for me, I'm in appearance-maintenance withdrawal. It's been four weeks now and no manicure or wax. While I haven't managed to give up exercise or chuck out my pumice stone yet, I'm making progress. My hair is tatty, my feet are rough and my tummy is showing certain evidence of chicken tikka masala and beer. The straight teeth I can do nothing about. But with a bit of determination and laziness, I may become a perfect Englishwoman yet. lmclaren@globeandmail.ca

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