Being a lady is a lot of work. If you’re not a lady, this post isn’t going to be overly relatable because, well, that reasoning seems obvious. But maybe you stand to learn something about your girlfriend or wife or mother or sister or daughter or grouchy neighbor. Or maybe you can just read and laugh and clink pint glasses with your bros. Whatever you choose to do is acceptable; I won’t know either way.
Today, I opened up my day planner to a note I only vaguely recall writing that said “remove all your body hair”. Above it, was the scribbled out original note: “shave legs and pluck eyebrows”. Evidently, that was not inclusive enough. I can imagine myself, sleep deprived and hungover, grazing my leg with my hand and going “oh good god, I need to shave. But I’m too lazy right now. I know; I’ll write myself a note. Brilliant. I should also probably pluck my unibrow. And I think I need to wax my lip… oh fuck it, just remove all the hair from my body. That seems easier. But not now. I’ll make coffee now. That’s productive enough.”
The conundrum with which I clearly deal so gracefully is that societally, we, the ladyfolk, are expected to be hairless except for abundant, voluptuous head hair. Which, may I just point out, is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Anyone with thick, lush head hair also, by genetic principal, has thick, lush body hair. And anyone with sparse, wispy body hair ends the day with flat, lifeless Tom Petty head hair, independent of the vigor with which you back-combed that morning. So we resort to ripping off our body hair using methods that I’m certain will be viewed as torture when the aliens discover our planet. Anyone who sits here and tries to tell me that getting a bikini wax isn’t agonizing is either lying or very very drunk. The first time I tweezed my eyebrows, I cried the rest of the night. Laser hair removal seems like a viable alternative, but I’ve heard that too is very painful, smells like burning hair and, rarely but occasionally, leaves a permanent burn mark on your face in the shape of the very mustache you were just trying to vanquish. Not my definition of ideal.
Now, this isn’t me trying to take a stance against cosmetic upkeep. I buy into it. I too feel more attractive when I have two distinct eyebrows and nose hairs that stay up where they belong. But women having body hair has become a bit of a stigma. We’re not allowed to talk about the fact that we have mustaches. But newsflash: we all evolved from the same hairy, heavy-browed cave people. Of course we still have mustaches. The fact that we’re smaller and have sweet, melodic voices does not stunt our genetic predisposition for upper lip hair. We’re still humans. Sharper, wittier, more compassionate humans who are better at multitasking… but humans nonetheless.
So I’m outing us. Ladies are hairy. Some of us have sideburns. Some of us have eyebrows that creep together. Some of us bleach our lip hair and some of us wax it off. Some of us have to use ear and nose hair trimmers. Some of us grow one thick, long whisker on our cheek like the strange lone remnant of an ancient beard. Some of us have armpit stubble by nighttime. Some of us have belly hair. All of us have pubes that don’t grow in the perfect shape of a triangle/diamond/creative alternative. Some of us have one particularly weird pube that refuses do what the others do and just sort of stands rigid in protest and continues to grow back in that fashion, independent of consistent plucking. Some of us would have to shave our legs twice a day if we wanted them to be constantly smooth. Some of us even shave our toe hair. That’s right. I said toe hair.
Whether you or the loved one you’re reading this for is well maintained in these respects is irrelevant. We’re women. We come this way. We alter things sometimes. And other times not. We’re not high maintenance when we take 90 minutes in the bathroom. And we’re not gross when we don’t. Unlike men, we can’t grow out our facial hair and adopt a cool, sexy, lumberjack look. Arresting our routine does not make us look like laid back hipsters. Be kind when we only had time to shave our ankles. Be kind when our eyebrows begin to resemble caterpillars. Be kind when we’ve spent so much time on body hair removal that our head hair appears lackluster. Be kind when the sun catches an overgrown chin hair. And be kind when we leave ourselves notes to de-hair but end up just writing about it instead.
Diamond Pretty Adventures 