As I scroll through my Facebook feed, I am inundated with images of women proudly touting their long, under-hair locks, and I’ve just about had my fill. Go ahead and grow your armpit tresses, ladies, but don’t expect me to be joining your ranks—and for heaven’s sake, don’t judge me for sparing you the hirsute messes that are my pits, legs, and nethers.
I am hairy. When I was a little girl, I used to proudly boast to friends about my 100% pure French heritage. Little did I know that those bloodlines meant that I am kin to both the Sasquatch and the Yeti. My French descent has condemned me to a life sentence with a razor.
I vaguely remember my first shave. I felt like such a woman, sitting on the bathroom counter, with one leg in a sink full of water, my skin lathered with cream. I was so excited to be shaving off all of the prickly little buggers that were sprouting forth from me. Ahh, yes. The sweet ignorance of adolescence.
Since then, I’ve ventured through decades of shaving, and to be honest, I’ve had a couple very real excuses to stop. For one thing, I live in Alberta. It’s winter for seven months of the year! It would be completely reasonable for me to stop wearing long johns and let my body hair keep me warm, but I just can’t put my razor down.
Even a pregnant belly the size of The Great Pumpkin couldn’t keep me from wielding my Lady Bic. I did everything possible to spare my OB-GYN from the wilderness on my legs and nether regions. Thankfully the prenatal yoga had paid off, and I was able to bend and contort my body to get the cleanest shave I could manage.
Approximately 6900 shaves after my first one (trust me, I did the math, and this is a very realistic approximation) I will say that although I don’t like the task, shaving is a necessary evil and here’s five reasons why:
1. Styling isn’t my bag.
So let’s say I let my body hair grow out. I’m curious how I’m supposed to manage it. I kid you not—styling would be an issue. I’m not about to trade in my razor for a round brush and styling mousse.
2. It’s not worth the potential plumbing troubles.
Every couple of months, I get to stand on the other side of the bathroom door while my darling husband unclogs the sink. In between the occasional dry heave, he curses the stinky, sludgy balls of hair plugging the trap. And that’s just the hair from my head! Just imagine what my body hair would do to the plumbing in our house!
3. The stock market would crash.
I care about the economy too much to stop buying razors. 6900 shaves at $1.75 a razor . . . I basically keep our nation afloat.
4. I wouldn’t be able to frequent my kids’ favourite places.
If I dared to go to swimming pools or splash pads with all my body hair intact, people would run away in horror, screaming “BEAR!” And the zoo would be out of the question. I’m not about to become the new squeeze of the nastiest primate in the monkey house.
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5. Returning to shaving would be life threatening.
There’s no way I could return to shaving after growing out my body hair. I currently require an adamantium-forged, elf-blessed, five-bladed wonder to hack through even the slightest stubble. If I grew out my hair and then returned to shaving, I would need either a hedge trimmer or a machete to hack through the bush. It would not be pretty (and it might be potentially fatal).
Sorry, but this lady is all about the hair removal. The claims that I’m killing feminism by shaving have got to stop. Shaving is my duty and being smooth is my privilege.
This original piece by Jennifer Bly was written exclusively for In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Featured image © depositphoto.com/pekour.