New Hair Don't Care: How I'm Learning to Love My Body Hair in Lockdown
Being in lockdown has meant that I’ve had a lot of time to myself, and date night with me is becoming a regular thing. My dates have ranged from having sexy bubble baths with a glass of red, to cosy movie nights with popcorn and hot chocolate - me and myself have been getting along really well.
The great thing about my new date nights is that I don’t need to worry about looking my best for them. In fact, pretty much all of my standard beauty habits have flown out the window during quarantine; my hairbrush hasn’t been touched in ages, my wardrobe hasn’t seen the light of day (except for the loungewear drawer) and I’ve not even thought about picking up my wax strips, razor or tweezers.
Because my body hair is becoming ever more visible (and I’ve had a lot of time on my hands), I’ve been beginning to think more and more about the implications of female hair. As a feminist, I strongly defend the idea that women are in control of their bodies and that no one should say otherwise. Yet, if I’m so blazé about being hairy when I’m not on show to the rest of the world, why do I normally care?
Ideally, I’d like to maintain that I wax purely for myself, but the reality is that normally I'd make sure my pits, legs and vagina were waxed before a date(or at least neatly tidied)for fear of being judged. Does this mean I really am waxing for men - and not for myself?
It's important to note that my current partner has never once asked me to wax or shave my bits. However, whenever I used to tidy up downstairs, I did always think that he’d be in for a treat when I got home. Now I’m decidedly celibate and doing long distance, I’m letting my pubes grow like wildfire. It goes to show that when I’m not having sex I don’t even contemplate waxing.
Just like with any other aspect of the body, brushing up is a massive part of day to day life, whether that’s flossing your teeth, dyeing your hair, putting make-up on or wearing your new summer dress. It’s not essential but a lot of us feel better, sexier and more confident when we take care of our appearance. With hair removal it’s no different.
Just like I would put on my fleekiest make-up for a date, I make my foof look as pretty as possible (at least in my opinion) by giving it a trim. The trouble is there is way less of an open conversation about pubic hair than there is about make-up or fashion.
From our awkward early teens (or even earlier) we start to sprout hairs in all sorts of crevasses in our bodies and we don’t know what to do about them. For me, most of the grown women I saw had hairless armpits and shaved legs, which made me think that hair was abnormal and should be got rid of.
I remember innocently raising my arm in front of the mirror to be shocked one day by a full-on hairy patch in my armpits. Not knowing how to tackle it, I stuck thick, black duct tape to the hair in the hopes that by ripping it off they’d never grow again. Instead, I was left with sticky black glue stuck to my pits for the next three days. I was also subject to teasing from my younger brother who’d cruelly take it upon himself to always point out and mock my armpit hair whenever they slipped out.
This early encounter with horror towards pubic hair has made it difficult for me to ingrain the idea that body hair is normal and doesn’t have to be hidden. I spent my teens keeping my arms down unless I was completely bald in my pits and I often swapped shorts for trousers on hot summer days when I hadn’t had time to shave my legs.
Although there are many adults who aren’t phased by hair on show, there are still a worrying amount that are. Aestheticians report that many women who get waxes say that their partners have asked them to do so.
In the same way that people have different shaped bodies, people have different amounts of hair. Hair shouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of; it is simply who you are.
In 2020, we’re seeing more stretch marks on models of different colours and shapes and now we need to see more of that with hair. If the 11-year-old me had seen a host of hairy women on TV, adverts and around me I wouldn’t have felt so ashamed of my hair growth and my brother may not have mocked me.
What I’ve learnt during my solo dates is that, in fact, hair is beautiful. By not worrying about the state of my body, each time I look in the mirror I fling up my arms to take a look at how my hairs are coming along and boy do they look good. Thick, wavy, healthy strands are growing longer and longer so that someday I may even be able to plait it.
That being said, before lockdown, I waxed because it makes me feel more confident and tidy and I find it surprisingly satisfying - and that doesn’t make me any less of a feminist.
In fact, even debating whether wearing make-up or waxing your legs makes you a feminist or not is frankly a waste of time. Women should feel free to treat their bodies how they like and do whatever they feel most comfortable doing, even if that includes the pain-inflicting experience of a wax.
Right now, though, every time I take a peek at my hairs they seem to get more and more attractive - even sexy. I don’t want them to go away anytime soon. This is my natural self and I shouldn’t be inflicting any pain or spending any money to get rid of my body hair because, ultimately, I don’t want to.
From now on I shall flaunt my armpirt hair as if 11-year-old me had seen more women flashing theirs. It’s up to me to show the next set of youngsters that hair is fabulous.
So, I’m counting down to the end of lockdown so I can show off my new home-grown assets. Perhaps I’ll cover them in glitter or clip on some pearls to make sure they definitely grab everyone’s attention…
Title image by Jimena Lain.
Jemima Compton is a freelance content writer in the UK. Read more from Jemima on her blog.
