In 1915, Gillette released an ad of a woman wearing a sleeveless dress. This was the new style, and society decided that women needed hairless armpits to go with them. Gillette’s Milady Décolleté became the first razor marketed to women; one million were sold by 1917. See article
In year 5 a boy saw sunlight glistening off the hair above my lip and my arms. Him and his friends teased me. I borrowed my mum’s razor that night and shaved my face, arms and legs. In the summer my hair always grows way quicker. It seemed like I spent every day plucking the hair joining my eyebrows. I got lazy and swiped a razor down that gap too. My eyebrows were too far apart for months but at least they were apart.
In year 10 I hated how dark my pubic hair was, so raided my sister’s drawer for hair lightening cream and applied liberally. The outcome was not the fair, unnoticeable hair I had hoped for, but a bright orange display shining back at me - it became the punchline of jokes in my year group for months.
My first sexual encounter with a boy was prefaced with a trip to Boots with my girlfriends to buy hair removal cream. That night, a bathroom filled with the medicinal smell of Veet, I wasn’t happy with the results. My hair was too thick and I was left with stumpy, sparse hairs so I tried to razor over the top. Two strokes in and the stinging was horrendous, I didn’t realise how sensitive my skin was from the cream and instantly two red lines appeared of raw, upset skin.
When I was 17 I only saw my boyfriend every other week. Between visits my hair had time to grow so my shaving experience was pretty chilled. My boyfriend at uni I saw every night. I hated how quickly my hair grew back, the day after I shaved there would be stubble. I couldn’t let him see it, it’s so unattractive. It didn’t matter that I was shaving over delicate skin and causing the hairs to grow inwards or that my bikini line would rub against my underwear creating painful bumps. Before I visited him I had a ritual of shaving, followed by Sudocreme, concealer and powder. We didn’t really sleep together during the day so it was less obvious that the concealed rash turned my bikini line a completely different colour to my legs. I would take my makeup with me and wake up earlier than him to reapply in the morning, just in case.
In third year, a friend that I occasionally kissed on nights out mentioned his absolute number one turn off was armpit hair on women “anything, even stubble, blergh”. My vague desire to be attractive to him ensured I always remembered to check my pits were silky smooth if I knew I would be seeing him.
I’ve always been heavily praised for the thick hair on my head and (since they became popular) my bushy eyebrows. The fact that I have dark hair elsewhere is my problem, mine to hide or remove. We just want luscious hair where we want it, anywhere else is gross.
I had internalised this mysogy too, observing hair on women’s legs or armpits in confusion, and I’m ashamed to say disgust. Saying shit like “I just don’t feel clean if I haven’t shaved” and sincerely apologising to lovers or friends when my body was showing and my next wax was due. Apologising for my body. I realise my privilege as a white cis woman too. Trans women and women from Ethnicities of naturally darker hair endure much worse scrutiny. Similarly I sympathise that men with a lot of body hair don’t have it easy either.
But this censorship isn’t just in person; while hairless lingerie pics go viral, those with visible pubic hair have been known to be removed by Instagram for graphic content. See article
The time we have been conditioned to dedicate towards body hair compared to men results in limited freedom to enter into situations without previous prep. I haven’t gone to a party, gone on holiday, gone to the beach, got dressed on a hot day without considering and “taking care” of my body hair since I was a little girl. The ability for men to just show up is just another privilege that women are not afforded in society.
Then there's the financial burden. In 2017 a study showed the average woman spends £23,000 over the course of her lifetime to wax away unwanted hair. That's not including threading or laser, that's just wax. That's more than what myuniversity education cost, see article. And let's not even get into the taxation on female products, it's bullshit. But it's optional, just stop doing do it then? Duh. Well what's the financial cost of this choice? Will you be as likely to be hired for that role, be given that promotion, be taken seriously if you have visible armpit hair? Perhaps in creative industries, but let's be honest - the stigma attached to body hair is real and needs to stop.
But unfortunately it’s easier to conform, life is simpler and you often get further under the patriarchy. Because we’ve been conditioned to equate hairlessness with sex appeal. I admittedly still find it difficult to feel sexy if I’m not smooth. Because underwear and bathing suits are cut to reveal if you haven’t removed hair. Because if we don’t, we’re branded as aggressive lesbians or militant feminists (because obviously there’s only one way to be a lesbian or feminist 🙄). And as all these appointments and practices happen in private, the final product is presented as if it occurs magically and automatically; men are so used to seeing hairless women online or IRL that when they aren't it's seen as an afront. It’s ironic that by not doing anything at all it’s interpreted as us opting out and a radical act. We’ve taken a stand and are making a point by NOT doing something.
Over lockdown my wax appointments were cancelled and I had continued months of “not maintaining” my body hair. It wasn’t some life changing experience, I didn’t really notice. That’s what was so nice about it - it took up just as much head space as it deserved, none. After years of obsessing and punishing my body for what it does naturally, I felt comfortable.
I now get waxes when I want and shave when I want. I have the best chats with my beautician about our love lives, with my legs thrown up in the air. I love the hairs on my thighs because in summer when they go blonde I look even more tanned. My sister, aunt and I regularly send each other celebratory pictures of our armpit hair if we’ve let it grow. We laugh about how soft it feels.
While men envy each other’s beard games, I don’t know if I’ll get the same credit for the rogue chin hairs I get. I still get the odd ingrown hair, it’s natural, but now it’s a topic of triumph among my girlfriends when you give yourself neck-ache, bent over with tweezers, to finally feel the wiry twang of the hair as it pings out.
If you feel a certain way about this topic, really pick apart how you arrived at your understanding and what were the external influences. You might be surprised with what you discover. And if you’re reading this with a conflicting relationship towards your body hair, I feel you and I understand that “you do you” is much easier in theory than practice when society will sexualise one and likely stigmatise the other. But hang in there babe, I’m waving a flag for you.
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