I don’t shave my body hair.
As a cis woman, I’ve struggled with my body hair since puberty. Society dictates that I only have hair on my head and eyebrows, and I, like many cis women, grow it on my legs, arms, armpits, and genitals. I grew up hearing that women who don’t shave hate men, are dirty/disgusting, and are lesbians (which didn’t begin to define my sexuality and during the Bush administration equated to “bad”). I didn’t want to be seen as any of those things, so from 11 years old on, I shaved my body hair.
Shaving every day was time consuming and sometimes traumatizing, especially when I would cut myself badly, get infected ingrown hairs in sensitive areas, or was rejected by romantic partners who would be disgusted if I had anything short of a newly attained Brazilian.
Then a few years ago, I decided to stop shaving.
Even though it wasn’t mainstream, I’d seen some friends’ and acquaintances’ hairy legs once I left the Midwest, and read about celebrities’ decisions to stop shaving. It seemed less scary knowing I wasn’t the only person making that choice. At first I was grossed out by the sight of hairy women, and then grossed out at myself for being grossed out. I started to question why I found it so upsetting.
In fact, I was disgusted by myself when I first stopped shaving. I spent the first two years ignoring my reflection, feeling self-conscious in public (especially when I moved from the west coast to the east coast), and repeatedly asking my partner if he didn’t want me anymore. And self-consciousness was just the beginning. I regularly overheard the conversations of strangers or friends giggling and talking about my body, and even had multiple confrontations with family members about my choice. I was told that having body hair would make people judge me–and my husband–harshly. Most intriguingly, I was told that having body hair was a sign that I was judging other people for shaving. I’ve been a hair-positive person for five years now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s really only one culprit for all this drama: the Patriarchy.
Luckily for me, the trade off is that I have hours of my time back every week to spend however I want. It sounds dramatic, but it’s true: if I hadn’t stopped shaving, I probably wouldn’t have had time to start mediating, learning cool new hairstyles, making a comic, or going to therapy. This, coupled with the absence of shaving stress and a whole lot of self-esteem work from the aforementioned therapy, made me a happier and more well-adjusted person. Side perk: I don’t have to buy shaving products (see? I can make this blog post about zero waste!).
I also stopped noticing body hair on other women. This shift was especially apparent when I watched a movie or TV show and a woman with body hair was used for comedic effect. It would take me a second to realize what was funny, because I’d begun to normalize what women look like with hairy armpits.
And over time, something remarkable began to happen. I started to like my body hair.
I know – *gasp*, right?
A few years into the natural body journey, I doubted whether I would get to this point. I’m so glad I stuck it out. Accepting my body the way it is means that I am more likely to look in the mirror and like what I see. I’ve learned that some people may be afraid of uninhibited women, but a lot of people dig it. I’ve still been able to make friends, succeed at my job, and have a healthy, loving relationship with my partner, all while having body hair.
There’s one last thing that I’ve gotten out of my decision: the hope that when someone sees me with body hair, they’ll feel more comfortable to do whatever the hell they want with their body. I doubt I’d have made this choice if I hadn’t seen or heard about other people doing it. And while I realize that being a cis white woman makes it easier for me to do things without having to defend my gender, I hope that my choices will widen the definition of “woman” so everyone feels safer breaking stereotypes, too. We try so hard to be normal because we’re afraid of what could go wrong if we’re not. I used to be angry that there will always be people who see us as less of a person because of how we look, no matter how hard we try. But now I see it as an invitation to stop trying so hard. So if something you do to maintain gender norms makes you supremely unhappy, it’s ok to try not doing it. Maybe it will work and change your life, maybe it won’t. But I for one will be on your side.