It’s Not About the Armpit Hair
A year and a half ago I threw out my razor and stopped shaving. I needed a hard reset. I needed to see how I felt about my own body hair, and not have it be something that I felt like I was embarrassed about whenever I wasn’t keeping up with all the waxing, shaving, bleaching, and plucking that women are expected to do.
It wasn’t until I stopped shaving and sank into my body did I realize the power that has come from it.
It’s taken me over a year to write about this experience because I didn’t know what to say. It’s come down to this- I want to share my story.
A history of hairiness
Like most women, I’d felt shame and awkwardness about my body hair since I was young. Whether it came from wanting to shave my legs and not being allowed to or being afraid of being in a swimsuit and revealing anything that ‘shouldn’t be there’.
The older I got, the harder it became to manage. It was a daily battle to make sure that all hair was removed from my face and body to feel comfortable presenting myself in any situation.
The embarrassment hit an all-time high when a guy I was dating broke up with me for having pubic hair. How had the world gotten to this point, where a man could be so shocked that I actually had any hair down there? It turns out a combination of Sex and the City, porn, and media’s display of ‘beautiful woman’ had shaped a strong cultural norm.
My body hair wasn’t going to go anywhere, and neither was society’s viewpoints of it. I needed to do something for myself and learn how to better accept me for me.
Let it Grow
The first weeks after I stopped shaving I was too embarrassed to wear shorts or dresses. My increasingly hairy legs made me hide them in public so as not to be judged by others looking at me. The first friend I told about the experiment gasped and averted her eyes from my legs. She couldn’t understand why I would voluntarily do something like this.
Over the next few months, I got similar responses from friends and family. From conversations with my mom if I was really going to go to weddings like this (which I assured her I was and would be in a strapless dress dancing with my arms up), to my aunt asking why I would distract people from my beauty with my hairy armpits?
At some point, something shifted within me that removed me from the fear of judgment about my body hair. I started to love making people feel uncomfortable with it. It brought me joy how much it can challenge and confuse other people.
To be honest it confuses me sometimes too. There are some days I look at my legs and cringe a little bit. In those moments, I accept my emotions without trying to fix it or change it. I tell myself there’s some deep social programming that’s happened, and it’s all okay.
The more that time has passed, the more I’ve been able to unpack the years of shame around my body and come to see my hair as a powerful statement that I am comfortable in myself.
It’s surprisingly brought me a lot closer to many people and made me feel more accepted and understood.
One day last summer, I received a call from my aunt apologizing for being so judgemental about my hair. She said that she and my mom had talked a lot about it and she realized that she was the one with a problem, not me. She kept asking herself, “Why does this matter? And why have I been so judgemental to other people for having unusual personal styles?” She then thanked me for expanding her perspective and making room for more acceptance and kindness for others.
Let it Go
It was six months until I shaved for the first time post razor hiatus. It was a strange experience as I wondered what it meant if I preferred not having hair. Did that mean that I wasn’t a good feminist or was buying into societal’s viewpoint on how I should be?
I decided it’s not about the hair. It’s about knowledge and choice. I get to choose to exist however I want and am proud of myself that I can accept myself either way.
I now shave whenever I want to, and not because I feel like I should, or that I’m doing it for someone else. I like my armpit hair, and I don’t mind my leg hair.
Last time I was in Thailand, I got a pedicure and the older Thai lady pulled on my leg hair confused and laughing. I joined in with her too, shrugging and smiling. This is me, and body hair’s pretty silly.
