In a too-hot Parisian apartment, the founder noticed that women had three options: wax, which takes courage, razors, which demand a shower, or electric epilators, which demand a plug and a tolerance for noise.
He imagined a quiet, dry, lightweight object — something you could use before breakfast, in the car, on the sofa, in a hotel room, before Pilates, between two flights, by the pool.
A few years later, the object traveled. From Paris first. Then to pharmacies, concept stores, beach bags, cabin luggage, and your best friend’s nightstand. And finally, it became what it was always meant to be: the passport to a club with no fixed address.
