Before each dance in high school, I used to perform a ritual
of full body hair removal (now apparently ridiculous). I shaved my big toes,
legs, pubic hair and armpits, and passed the razor over unruly hair under the
navel, in the center of the chest and around the nipples. I crinkled my
eyebrows and all the random buds on my chin, then, while carefully applying
Victoria's Secret Pure Seduction lotion all over my hairless body, I let a
creamy white epilator settle on my lip and dissolve my mustache. I knew I
should only leave it on my skin for 10 minutes, but my hard black hair was so
stubborn that it wasn't always long enough to remove everything. It would leave
the cream for too long, causing small chemical burns around my mouth. The
redness was embarrassing in itself, but he knew he could cover it with a thick
base of Maybelline Dream Matte Mouse. Everything was better than people who
knew they had hair above their lips.
I have known my hair for as long as I can remember. I'm not
sure what caused it, but I remember the tons of times my fear of hair got
worse: when the boys in my class teased anyone whose eyebrows were remote, when
I was one of the only girls in the gym locker room with pubic hair and everyone
looked up, when I saw my older sister tasting Nair the first time and heard her
screaming in the melting shower his skin.
I understood that body hair was bad, and getting rid of it,
as painful and annoying as it was, was absolutely necessary.
However, as diligent as I was with my waxing, I felt that
there was always thatch somewhere on my body. In high school, I swung my head
in my hand on my desk or at the lunch table, strategically covering my mouth so
that no one could see my shadow before five o'clock.
As I got older, my leg, my armpits and my pubic hair became
less affected. He always shaved me, but I was not embarrassed if he made me a
little uncomfortable. Everyone knew that all women grew hair in these places.
It didn't sound like a secret. But the hair everywhere still mortified me. I
was so frustrated when couples tried to join me in the shower when I really
needed to shave. I couldn't let them see that I had a full maintenance routine
for my stomach, nipples and face!
The point is, my hairs never bothered me. I was terrified
that other people would judge me.
And then I convinced myself that I also liked the feeling of
being completely shaved. I ran to university and on Friday evening before the
meetings, I practiced my same dance ritual in high school, getting rid of all
the hair you could see in our bikini style uniforms. When I got back from the
shower, I jokingly announced to my boyfriend that he was a "naked mole rat".
I felt sexier and more comfortable around him in a completely hairless state.
Looking back, I really don't think he cared in one way or another, but my
discomfort with the hair made me assume so.
When I moved from Iowa to New York after college, I started
to see more and more women with visible hairs IRL, in art, advertising and on
social media. I think that's why in recent years I have felt much more
comfortable with mine. I have wanted to cultivate mine for some time, almost as
an experience to see what I think about it, but as a single person, I have
always been too afraid of what new partners might think.
Then the pandemic started. At first, I stopped shaving
because ... what is it for? He didn't see anyone and he always did for others
anyway. Plus, following a grooming routine involved in the midst of a global
crisis seemed exhausting and trivial. It was like my chance to let the hair on
my body do the right thing.
And, not surprisingly, it was a damn incredible experience.
My showers are quick and easy, and the skin on my legs, bikini line and upper
lip, which caused razor burn and irritation, has never felt better. Yes, at
first I had pointy, slightly itchy hair, but it only took me about two weeks to
get over it. I have not shaved since the beginning of March and my hair is
quite straight at the moment. Sometimes I cut my bikini line with scissors
because the length and volume can be a little annoying, but I haven't touched a
blade for months. I cling to my hair and I feel healthy and proud when I notice
it, like when you see your nails getting longer.
At the start of the pandemic, I really didn't have to think
about other people seeing the hair on my body. I stayed indoors most of the
time, and if I went outside, it was cold enough for leggings and long-sleeved
shirts, and wearing a mask hid my mustache. But as it got warmer and I switched
to shorts and the tank top, my hairs could not hide. I don't mind being seen by
strangers, but swinging it around people who attract me was difficult at first.
I went to FaceTime and to socially distant outdoor meetings
with a guy I had been watching since before the New York lockdown. One Saturday
we drove our bikes to Coney Island. I was wearing leggings, but when we took
off our shoes and socks to put our feet in the sand, I noticed that the hairs
on my legs were still visible around my ankles. Instantly, I tried to drop my
leggings to cover them. I doubt he noticed it, but I still felt embarrassed. I
was well aware of how my mustache would be visible in the sunlight when we
lowered our masks for a drink.
But beat the date, the hair exposed and everything, and
nothing catastrophic happened. I realized that he loved me. It didn't matter if
he was furry.
At our next meeting, we will jog together. He was wearing a
tank top and while we were stretching, I knew he could see my hair under myarmpits. Again, he didn't bother. I said nothing. He really didn't react. I
realized that, as with almost any physical attribute, other people would take
my direction on how to respond to it. If he didn't act like it was a big deal,
no one else would. And frankly, if someone can't accept my "stache, my
holes or my hairy legs, then it's not the right person for me.
Now, I no longer reflexively cover the hair on my body.
Sometimes I always feel a little shy when the men I know see it, but it kind of
looks like exposure therapy. The more I allow people to see it, and I don't get
a lot of feedback from them, the more comfortable I feel with it. Sometimes I
like to show off. And the more I have it, the more I like it. I like what it
feels like when the breeze blows. I like the way it is a sort of dating filter
for people who are easily put off by the reality of the human body, or think it
is socially acceptable for men to have visible hair. I like what he says about
me: that I feel comfortable with my body as it naturally exists. I am proud of
how something that was so deeply ashamed and embarrassed has become something
that I celebrate. It made me realize that I can change my perspective on any aspect
of myself that I don't automatically like.
I am proud of how something that was so deeply ashamed and
embarrassed has become something that I celebrate.
I don't know if all this means that I will never shave
again. One day you may want to revisit the life of the naked mole rat. You may
want to be gentle for a special occasion. But right now, I'm not interested in
using my energy to get rid of hair. I like how it is. And honestly, I'm so
tired of being ashamed of my body in any way. Letting my hair grow was one way
to combat these feelings. And I hope this shows other people who have felt bad
with their hair that it really isn't a big deal.
This little experience showed me how liberating it is to
limit your beauty and care practices to the things you really love, which are
for you and for you alone. It turns out that without outside pressure, my
beauty routine is incredibly minimalist.
It is strange that I took a pandemic to finally realize that
the obsession with my exposed secret hair did not add happiness to my life. But
it was a small positive thing to get out of it. In the middle of everything
going on, seeing that my hair hasn't stopped growing reminds me that I didn't
stop growing either. There is satisfaction in seeing it lengthen. Although it
seems that my life froze in early March, my little hairs remind me of the
passage of real time. I know it's just hair, but letting it exist makes me feel
free.
