My first political post!!! A passion of mine is analysing social issues and having honest conversations about them. So, by popular demand (Annie), today’s deep dive is about body hair removal.
My journey with body hair removal began before I can remember when years and years of socially constructed narratives were passed down to me subconsciously; the idea that I was supposed to be hairless was cemented in my mind. I can’t recall when that happened, but I vividly remember being in year seven and a few girls in my class began shaving. I was made fun of for not. I begged my mum to let me, but she refused. She said I was ‘too young’ which at the time I thought was bullshit (the irony). She was right, I was 12 years old, and the hair on my legs was natural. She said that it was so much effort, that no one cared or was looking at my legs, but all the while she continued shaving her legs and attending wax appointments for her eyebrows and chin. Words so often lose their meaning. The peer pressure from the girls around me that bragged about their silky smooth legs and pointed out the hair on mine ultimately got to me. As it continues to do so now.
For my 13th birthday, I got my legs waxed and was given an epilator. Apparently, this would mean I could have a life free from constant hair removal because the hair took much longer to grow back. I remember the pain, and I remember the unnatural feeling of having hair-free legs (I sat in the backseat and wouldn’t let my legs touch because it made me feel uncomfortable). Was this all it cracked up to be? Yet there I was, every four days, ripping black hairs from legs, wincing in pain for 45 minutes. For some reason, as soon as the hairs started to grow back, I had to get rid of them (at least now I go a week before shaving, but more on that soon). It’s sad that little teen me felt so self-conscious that she dedicated time every couple of days, to put her body through pain, for the sake of being hairless.
Two years later and a (my) horrible lack of cleanliness I got a staph infection all over my legs on the day I started high school. I was so embarrassed that I covered my legs in plasters and wore a knee brace in an attempt to hide the ugly welts. Surely, I would see that hair removal was not worth it, but instead, I was allowed to start shaving.
In year nine, at swimming sports, my friends and I huddled around whispering about one of our friends who hadn’t shaved her pubic hair, we were embarrassed to be around her and couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed. Our first judgments are the thoughts that we’re taught to us, it is our reactions that show our character.
Eight years later, I am still consistently shaving my legs every week in the summer and every couple of weeks in the winter (because, if my legs are hidden from view, why would I need to…?). Whilst I used to shave far more regulatory and be incredibly embarrassed if my legs were hairy, I still can’t shake the societal expectation that to be attractive, I should not have body hair (thank god I never felt pressure to shave my arms).
Some days I’m so tired that I have to sit down and shave, I shave in the bathroom on the floor with my laptop playing a movie or I shave standing, in record time, inducing five bleeding cuts because I'm wearing a short skirt tomorrow and I haven’t shaved in eight days.
And so, why do I care so much? I catch myself saying or thinking ‘I need to shave’ but do I? My body naturally produces hair on my legs. It has a purpose, yet I and everyone around me, have been convinced that it’s unattractive. When I go swimming with my friends, I will justify that ‘I forgot to shave’ so that they know it is unintentional; so that they cannot judge or assume.
Society capitalised on the removal of women’s body hair. Why, to fulfil the male gaze, to sell more razors, to be seen as more feminine and distinct from men? Or is it because many men are obsessed with (and perpetually taught) the idea that women have to be perfect, with silky smooth skin, hairless and waiting for them (of course, without being too provocative or forward and most importantly untouched)? The other day I asked my friend if she was going to hook up with this guy she’d been chatting to. She said to me “I can’t think of anything worse right now, I’d have to shave my legs, armpits, everywhere, I’d have to wash and dry my hair, moisturise and get dressed in a cute but casual outfit”. We cannot seem to escape our performance, the body and the role we inherited is to please. To be an object perfectly crafted and effortlessly sculpted. To be demure, to be fuckable in an innocent way. And body hair, a clean shave, is a perfect way to appear so. Do men have a preference for a clean shave, or are they taught that they do? Do preferences perpetuate harmful ideas or are they natural?
This is in no way a dig at any woman who shaves, I myself have and will probably continue to shave regularly. It is not our fault that these ideas have been taught to us by society, the media and even our own mothers. Perhaps the most devastating part is we continue to perpetuate this system, and many of us will pass these ideals on to the next generation, knowingly or unknowingly. We are born into a world that rewards and celebrates attractiveness, we exist as victims but also as perpetrators.
When I was a child I did not care about the hair on my legs. I was taught. I was taught it is gross. I was taught it is unclean. I was taught it was unattractive. And I believed it, I internalised it, and I have come to think it’s true even when I try my hardest not to. I do not think a man’s leg hair is unattractive, in fact, I do not think about men’s leg hair. I wish I could see my own body that way.
We all fall victim to the pressures and dominant narratives of a patriarchal society. Women often have preferences; men feel pressure to grow facial hair and some women despise chest hair. However, men do not face the same ostracisation or backlash surrounding their body autonomy or choices the way women do. The women who take a stand against body hair removal are often vilified. I want to be one of the women who are brave enough to reject what society expects of them, but I am not there yet. Maybe I never will be.
So how do we stop? Should I stop? Do I like the feeling of freshly shaved legs against clean sheets or have I just been told I do? I cannot deny the fact I feel more beautiful when I have shaved legs, and that I feel dishevelled and unattractive when they are hairy. I know that when I say ‘I need to shave’ that I don’t, but I can’t stop. My body is mine alone, but it doesn’t feel that way. It is politicised and objectified. Thinking about it, it is not really my choice at all.
My ‘choice’ to shave my legs each week means I am a victim of the male gaze. My ‘choice’ to shave my legs each week means I am a perpetrator of the male gaze. We are complicit in a system that is designed for our conformity. Is it a losing battle?
Comments