I’m going to write about body hair. Specifically, my body hair. Perhaps an over-sharing warning would be appropriate… there you go.
For those of you that haven’t noticed, I have not shaved my legs for seven months. I think it’s fair to say that they have now reached natural equilibrium.
Consistent with the underwhelming nature of this blog i.e. my life, my motivation for allowing my leg hairs to grow is not exactly feminist. But, before I go into why I don’t shave, here’s a little about when I did.
Prior to boycotting leg hair removal, l chose epilating as my preferred method. I don’t like how shaving results in hairs growing back all stubbly and spiky and I certainly wasn’t going to dedicate time to it every 2-3 days to keep up appearances. Waxing can get pretty messy and is very faffy if you do it yourself, which I would because I’m not paying for the privilege. Hair removal cream just seems wrong. Epilating suited me as I only had to do it once a fortnight. I kept this up for over five years despite the effect it had on my skin; it got really tough and I would find hairs that hadn’t been able to penetrate through the top layer of skin but I ignored it because it looked OK as long as you didn’t get too close.
So what changed?
The reason I stopped epilating was because when I moved to New Zealand I forgot my UK shaver adapter and couldn’t justify buying a new one.
Yep, that’s it. No Amazonian cry of feminism, no rebellion against the sexist expectations of women, not even a voluntary move to go “au naturelle” in a new eco-lifestyle. It was not a statement and, until now, I have not made it one.
To my credit, when faced with the disastrous situation of not being able to mechanically pluck my leg hairs, I didn’t immediately turn to one of the aforementioned alternatives. And it was summer so I had my legs on show every day. Nonetheless, there were a lot of factors that gave me the confidence to do it:
· I tan easily and have blond hair[1]. Apart from the hair between my shins and my ankles, my hair is short, blond and fine. I have never shaved/epilated above my knees anyway so this was nothing new. So, from my thighs to my shins, I pretty much have baby hair.
· I already have a boyfriend and he doesn’t care. Why I ever thought he would is a mystery given that he never noticed whether my legs were smooth or not.
· I have been to virtually no fancy events that I have dressed up for in the last six months. The odd meal out here, gig there, even work has been really quite casual so there has been little pressure to “scrub up”.
· I moved to the other side of the world where anyone who met me for the first time would just assume I’d always been like that. On the other hand this could have been a disadvantage given that I wouldn’t expect my current friends disown me for such a thing and I’d have to convince the new ones I wasn’t … well … weird I guess.
· A girl I met in Fiji decided she could trust me because if I had hairy legs I must be “one of the good ones”.
All in all, I’d say that if I was ever going to do this, then was it. But, hair is a BIG deal! It has taken emotional effort for me to bare my hairy legs and here is my confession: I don’t like it and I don’t feel beautiful.
I feel that this would be a good time to highlight that I have been careful to specifically say “legs” throughout. This is because (and another reason there was no feminist statement made) I do keep my bikini line tidy(ish), I shave my armpits, I pluck my eyebrows and I wear makeup. The inconsistency and irony has not escaped me, so what was I thinking?! This is the first time I have asked myself this question and you, thus far interested readers, have the privilege of exploring the answer with me.
The expectation for, almost exclusively, women to shave legs, armpits, bikini lines, eyebrows, begins almost as soon as said hair begins to appear. This is the result of a longer-than-I-thought-until-I-just-Googled-it[2] history of hair removal from the justifiable reason of safety in caveman days, through the arguable ‘for hygiene reasons’ in the middle of the previous millennium, to the unsurprising influence of fashion and marketing in the 21stcentury. Ultimately, smooth is the virtually unquestioned, thoroughly entrenched norm.
Recently, a rebellion in hair removal has gained momentum on social media, particularly for armpit hair[3], which is definitely a good thing. However, it is a rebellion, it is a statement and while I’ll concede this usually has to happen before a paradigm shift, I’m not really thatperson[4]. Incidentally, when I stopped shaving my armpits I was totally fine with how it looked but I felt as though my BO was way worse! I’m not sure if anyone else noticed but I could smell myself and that really bothered me so, quite quickly, it was bye-bye armpit hairs for me. I’m sure that psychology played a huge part in my physical response, but it was getting me down, making me anxious and self-conscious to be around people so I decided it wasn’t worth it for me – again, I wasn’t trying to make a point.
Back to my legs. My circumstances were such that I didn’t have anyone to impress (I wasn’t working for four of those seven months) and I wasn’t dressing up. These had always been the two main motivations to get the epilator out, pronto. On the occasions since going ‘au naturelle’ that I did put on a dress and/or a nice pair of sandals, I felt as though having hairy legs made me look less attractive. I have short, muscular legs (thanks Dad) and those longer, darker hairs between my shins and my ankles, I felt, made me look like I had “cankles”. Yes, I preferred the look of the shape of my legs when they were smooth. I have virtually no body hang-ups and yet here I am, thinking that my hairy legs take away from everything else that I find attractive in myself.
Now, if that’s the truth, why didn’t I just shave like I did with my armpits? First of all, I told myself how ridiculous I was being. I have been blessed with many great features and I should be able to deal with this one imperfection[5]. Secondly, my skin now is great. I have no more in-growing hairs, no more bobbly spots near my knees and no more hard layer of skin on my legs. Thirdly, it’s really nice not having to set aside time to do it.
That’s really where I’m at now. We’re coming into winter and my tan is fading which means my hairs show up more and I feel less healthy. On the other hand, out come the trousers. Then again, I love wearing tights and I just know my hairs will poke out of them, which is of course unacceptable. I’m working as a professional now, and all be it in the usually casual academic setting, I feel as though my presentation is important (see “being above average”). Most importantly though, I have my self-esteem to think about. Is it taking up too much emotional energy to “stick it to the man”, or will the guilt of conforming be the greater burden? If I do decide to shave, how on earth am I going to find a method that is cheap, kind to my skin (and the environment), I don’t have to dedicate significant time to and effective?![6]
For me, those felt like very open musings – I’m not usually much of a sharer, but I found writing this post therapeutic. If you got this far, I would genuinely be interested in your opinions. Hopefully my conflictedness makes this a safe forum for honesty.
Dr Jelley
[1]This makes me a terrible candidate for laser hair removal.
[2]https://mic.com/articles/151191/the-unusual-and-deeply-sexist-history-of-women-removing-their-body-hair#.K2FJqTCzu(I realise that this is an opinion piece with few references but you get the idea)
[4]I’m the person who just does it.
[5]I’m not trying to be arrogant, this is how I feel about myself. I think I have a great body, and I know a lot of people think so too, but I’m not going to be all fake modest about it because I really love my abs.
[6]If anyone knows the answer to this, do let me know! Also, does that sentence make anyone realise how truly ridiculous this standard is?
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