What started as an experiment (of lazy origins) has turned into an act of rebellion, against myself.
I’ve never been one to wax. The thought of someone ripping all those hairs out of their little cozy sockets? No thanks, I’d rather cut it off. But before I left for Bali I thought feck it, would be nice not to deal with the hassle of shaving, not to have to worry about any stubble or strays for six weeks until the fuzz returned. I was decided, my legs and arm pit hairs were ripped out before I left. I was excited at the prospect of ‘perfect’ smooth silky legs for a while, that’s what we all want right? However less than a week later and my hairs were well on their way to growing back full power, seems instead of yanking them out they just broke off.. Great.. So I thought I would try round two. Maybe it was just a fluke. But again, same thing happens. WTF. Ok ok, fine, when I leave Bali and head to the Philippines I’ll try ONE last time, 3rd time lucky, see if that takes. But the time came, and you know what, I can’t be bothered. With the expense or time. And I realised, since the age of 13 when I first started shaving (I really didn’t need to) they’ve never been their normal length. How did it feel? How long were they? What did I actually look like o’natural? So began my lazy experiment to not shave and see what happens.
2 months later and I’m fully fledged hairy. I must be at my optimum now, but who knows, maybe there’s more to come. It’s been a weird journey. Like learning what my body REALLY feels like. To be 32 and only now learning how I feel.. I’m sat on the beach and it feels like someones stroking my legs with a feather, hey no, that’s just my hairs (took me a while to figure what was going on first time). Feel’s pretty good guys, see why you like keeping your leg hairs around. And when you come out the shower, your legs feel like they’ve got little ants running over the place, but its just your legs drying and the hairs moving about as they do too. So many new sensations. Who knew. And in a weird very unexpected way, I actually quite like my hairy legs. I don’t hate it. I’m not self conscious. Yes, they can go crazy fuzz sticking out sometimes and are pretty dark (not nice a nice neat soft blonde shimmer I had hoped), but they’re my hairs. It’s me. It’s how I was made. I grew them all myself.
My pits however, that’s another story. I’m struggling in this department. I put my arms up and shock myself, what the heck is that?! Oh.. it’s my hairy pits. Catch them in the mirror, woah, what’s burrowed in there? Recently it’s been a bit more of a struggle. I’ve been going to the gym every morning before work which involves having my arms up a lot of them time. Knowing people can see my very unconventional armpits. Poking out. Staring at them. Taunting them. Or that’s how it feels anyways. I’ve become so self conscious, what must people think, god it must be horrible for them, it’s gross, etc etc…
So why haven’t I started shaving again? Well why should I? I’d be doing it for other peoples benefit wouldn’t I. They aren’t doing anything horrible to me. It would be to fit into the norms of society. But why is it the norm? It is completely healthy, hygienic, natural and normal. Why should women feel so ashamed to be themselves, spend their lives constantly shaving, waxing, epilating, having lazer removal, just so they don’t feel s disgusting outcast. To feel like if we don’t drastically change ourselves, our natural body, to try and fit in, then how will people find us attractive, how will we ever get a partner, how would we make sure we’re not judged, talked about or laughed at. Women only started removing arm pit hair 100 years ago, and legs in even less time. It’s absurd why we’ve gotten to this place. Hair is there for a reason. Our bodies were made perfectly. Why do we need to change that? We have to put up with, and deal with so much other shit, why this aesthetically shallow and pointless thing as well. Obviously the thought of having smooth hairless skin still appeals to me and teases me, but why wouldn’t it, we’ve grown up in a world where the opposite is very much disapproved of.
So for now I’m not getting rid it. I’m rebelling, against myself. It won’t be removed until I’ve learnt to love myself wearing it. To not be ashamed or self conscious. To wear it with pride. It’s me, and we should never ever be ashamed of who we are, how we were made, what we look like. I refuse to spend the rest of my life continuously changing who I am to fit in with other peoples expectations of a distorted view of how we should look. I imagine by the time I don’t care what people think of my furry body, I will love those parts of me that I won’t want to get rid of it. I look forward to that day.