I didn’t shave for the entirety of November, give some days. Honestly, I don’t remember exactly when I last shaved. Against popular consensus, it was in late October, not June (??2012??). I am on the precipice of a shower as I write this, and I feel that I should take the time to reflect.
Observe, from left to right, and top to bottom: Both of my legs – just chilling, a close up of my left leg, the contrast between me thigh and my shin, my right armpit, and for good measure, a blurry selfie with my armpit hair on death/shave row.
How can I fully encapsulate all of the feelings I have? For one, I feel quite hairy. My legs itch whilst confined in cotton leggings, and I don’t feel super comfortable sporting tank tops anymore. As a reminder, I did this last year, so I had some expectations. While my legs didn’t bring any surprises, I found my armpits to be the real MVPs of 2015, acting as a pair of petite, fuzzy pets when I was feeling down. I am unsure whether the added fur made my deodorant more or less effective as a function of time throughout the day, but I do know that I will be losing more than just 30 day stubble when I shave; I will be losing a friend.
No longer can I meander around Brown’s campus, observing all of the hideous mustaches on fuckfratboys, and smugly thinking, “If only you could see my leg hair right now.” And yet, I probably won’t miss raising my hand in class, and noticing how much hairier I am than many of my male-identifying classmates. It’s the 21st century, and I shouldn’t care, but I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. For all of the ladies who don’t shave, rock on, and more power to you. I like a bit of stubble, but in terms of tossing the razor, my fabulousness just isn’t there yet. The standard of a hairless woman is a societal construct, but I need to take baby steps away from that. Each year I do this, I get a little more comfortable with the amount of hair that nature endowed me with.
Body hair, you were around an inch long, and I hardly knew ye. In your final moments, let us fantasize about an alternate reality where I never shaved my legs in the seventh grade, and you would have been adorable peach fuzz, instead of a prickly pear. Rest in Peace.
Brb, gotta go shower.
Image via Caitlin Dorman ’16.