It's dangerously near midnight, I've got a super long day tomorrow, I'm exhausted... I really should be asleep. However, my body seems to have any ideas, and I'm feeling pretty bloody awake. Insert expletive here. On the other hand, this does mean that I now have time- so have a blog post. This evening, I'm talking about body hair :) Also- I feel I need to put a disclaimer- this post just represents my thoughts & feelings. I'm not talking for anyone but myself. Everyone is beautiful, and your choices on shaving etc. don't affect any of that. This is just my experience!
To talk about body hair, and my feelings towards it, we firstly need to have a bit of NotRebecca history. This probably isn't going to be fully coherent, never mind well-written. I've never really spoken at length about this, and definitely not considered posting it online. This is a bit weird, and slightly scary.
Anyway. NotRebecca history. So- I've always been the weird one. We know that, right? I embrace it. I love being weird, because it's who I am, and there's no changing that. However, it's not always been that way... The reason I embrace my weirdness so much now is because, once upon a time, it was the bane of my life. I've always been 'different', in ways that I guess I can't really explain. A bit hyperactive. Sometimes too loud; at other times very quiet. I become quite obsessed with things- Harry Potter, bears, hair dye... I wear the clothes I like. I'm not interested in fashion, or fitting in. I was never one to gossip over boys, or anything like that. Individually, it doesn't sound like much. When I read back over it, I'm just describing myself. But I'm 17 now, and my life is filled with the people I love; the people who love me back. It hasn't always been that way. Whilst I don't think I was ever bullied, there were lots of people, in primary and secondary school, who thought I was a bit 'too' weird. They didn't know how to react to me- so some of them weren't very nice. It was nothing major. In primary school, I remember playing by myself a lot- because no one else wanted to play with me; in secondary, I was aware of people talking about me behind my back. I was 'uncool' because I liked Harry Potter, and I liked school. There was at least one nickname that wasn't too nice. Again, it doesn't sound like much. But, at the time, it was difficult. At times, I just really wanted to fit it. I wanted to find out the secret to being popular, and liked- and, to me, that was synonymous with being good at- well, being a girl. That was what all the 'popular' girls seemed to have in common- that they were just good at being feminine. So I aspired to that.
How does this link to body hair? Well, when you're being teased already, you sure as hell don't want to give the people teasing you anything else to use. We were girls, hitting puberty. People were talking about periods, shaving and so on and so forth. I quickly realised that shaving was something that needed to be done- if I didn't, I was scared stiff that I'd be teased for my body hair, on top of everything else. To be a girl, you had to shave. That was pretty clear.
However, I didn't get how- and that scared me even more. I tried shaving my arm hair, because I thought it was too obvious; then I overheard someone making a negative comment about girls who shaved their arms, and I was terrified I would be found out. I shaved my legs- and left more small nicks than anything else. The girls in my class, and the shaved legs on TV, didn't have any of the small cuts that peppered my legs. I was worried that I'd be teased for those, too, for making it obvious that I shaved. Each one of those cuts was proof that I failed at being a girl- and each one could be ammunition for more teasing. Armpits I could handle, just about- but one day stubble, and I resolutely kept my arms down, just in case. Downstairs was too terrifying to contemplate, though, as a swimmer, it was unavoidable. I wore a swimming costume with shorts for a while, and avoided anything that said 'high legs'; much of my changing time was spent tugging at the bottom of my costume, making sure nothing could be seen, scared that someone would realise that- shock horror- there were a couple of stray hairs peeking out.
As you can see, it was a pretty fraught area. However, it wasn't just the opinion of others I was worried about. My own internalised views about body hair were pretty strong, too. Get ready- I associated body hair with those weird lesbian feminist things. Disgusting, right?! I couldn't possibly be one of those, nor could I internally identify myself as one. That was another reason that I shaved.
So that was the whys. That's my shaving story. However, over the past year or so, several things have happened. Notably, the whole lesbian feminist thing. Through being an out and proud lesbian and feminist, I've met some incredible people- some with body hair, some without. Last summer, I went up to London for two days, to hang out with some of the most amazing people I know. At the time, at least two of them had very visible armpit hair. I was fascinated, because, for them, it was such a normal thing. They were people I loved and admired, and they had armpit hair, and that was fine. For someone who had spent so much of her life seeing hair as a bad thing, associated with bad things, that was a really landmark point. Then, at some point around then, a friend posted a picture of her hairy legs on Facebook. The whole post became a bit of a battleground- but the stupidity of the arguments against body hair really got to me. 'Boys don't like it' sticks out in my memory as the main one. To me, this was important for two reasons- firstly, why the hell would I care what boys think?! And, secondly, even if I did, why should that change anything about how I act and I choose to appear? It's my body. I get to do what I want with it. Lastly, in September, one of my very close friends did an amazing speech on self love. For me, that was the final piece of the puzzle. My body and I- we don't get on. The body love is, unfortunately, not very strong here. But, as my wonderful friend pointed out, we only have one body. I realised then that, if I never tried to challenge my beliefs about my body, then I would spend a lifetime hating myself. That was a really scary thought. I decided I needed to change that, to get to a point where I was happy with the land I inhabit. From that realisation came another- how can I love my body when I am choosing to remove part of it every few days? How can I ever love my body when, really, I don't know what it is, in it's natural form.* In spite of the assumptions most people made- that I wasn't shaving purely to be an angry defiant feminist- my decision was fueled almost entirely by self-love. And that's one of the biggest forms of anarchy, really. Also, my experiences with both feminism and the LGBTQ+ community made me see that there really is no way to be a 'good' girl- that everyone is different, everyone presents differently, gender is a different thing for everyone.
After that, I let my leg hair grow. A while later, I let my armpit hair grow. It doesn't sound like much. For me, it was. For me, growing my hair was opening myself up to being vulnerable, and maybe being teased. But, I realised, I wasn't the young, scared girl I once was. I had become more comfortable in myself- I had embraced being weird. I was ready to let my hair down- quite literally.
As I stopped shaving just before the winter months, it was quite a while before anyone saw the fruit of my efforts (I know that sounds weird, but you get what I mean right?!). The first time anyone did, I was terrified. I was in a Law lesson, and it was hot, and I was wearing a jumper over my vest top. So- I took my jumper off. And? And the girls sat next to me started whispering and looking my way. It might not have been about me. It probably wasn't about me. That didn't matter- I was still convinced that it was. However- it was okay. I wasn't 13 anymore, and scared of being found out for not being good enough at being feminine. I was 17, and I knew that femininity was a concept and didn't define my self worth. I was 17, and I had chosen not to shave my armpits, and that was fine.
I rocked the unshaved look for a good few months, including a trip to Gambia that involved lots and lots of visible armpits/legs. I got some odd looks. I had to answer questions about it. But having the hair actually made me feel really empowered. I felt like I was kicking patriarchy in the face, just by wearing a vest top. It was cool, and I was in control. However, recently I chose to shave again. This was not a decision I made lightly. In terms of my legs, it was something to do with liking the feel of shaved legs. That sounds weird. But you get what I mean, right? For my armpits, it was more complicated. I have really prominent scarring on my arms, and that draws enough attention as it is. At the moment, I'm not entirely comfortable with that. Having armpit hair only made that attention worse, and in the end I decided that I needed to be comfortable with my scars before adding anything else to the mix. There was part of me that felt like a 'bad feminist' for shaving- again, this need to be 'good' at whatever I identify with and represent. Obviously, that's rubbish- there are plenty of feminists who shave, and plenty who don't. When I realised that I felt that way, I decided that it would be a good idea to shave again, just to try and get over this need to be 'good'. Right now I am choosing to shave my armpits and my legs. It's a flexible thing. I'm sure that in the future I'll go through times of being unshaven; and equally sure that I'll have times of being shaven. It doesn't change anything. It's just a choice I'm making at the time. And that's fine.
Reading over, I'm not sure that made much sense. It's late. I'm tired. It's a subject I don't feel entirely confident talking about, but one I feel I need to discuss all the same. Feel free to ask questions etc. Have a beautiful day, and big love xo
*This is just my experience- of course people can love their body and shave. These were just my thoughts at the time.
Anyway. NotRebecca history. So- I've always been the weird one. We know that, right? I embrace it. I love being weird, because it's who I am, and there's no changing that. However, it's not always been that way... The reason I embrace my weirdness so much now is because, once upon a time, it was the bane of my life. I've always been 'different', in ways that I guess I can't really explain. A bit hyperactive. Sometimes too loud; at other times very quiet. I become quite obsessed with things- Harry Potter, bears, hair dye... I wear the clothes I like. I'm not interested in fashion, or fitting in. I was never one to gossip over boys, or anything like that. Individually, it doesn't sound like much. When I read back over it, I'm just describing myself. But I'm 17 now, and my life is filled with the people I love; the people who love me back. It hasn't always been that way. Whilst I don't think I was ever bullied, there were lots of people, in primary and secondary school, who thought I was a bit 'too' weird. They didn't know how to react to me- so some of them weren't very nice. It was nothing major. In primary school, I remember playing by myself a lot- because no one else wanted to play with me; in secondary, I was aware of people talking about me behind my back. I was 'uncool' because I liked Harry Potter, and I liked school. There was at least one nickname that wasn't too nice. Again, it doesn't sound like much. But, at the time, it was difficult. At times, I just really wanted to fit it. I wanted to find out the secret to being popular, and liked- and, to me, that was synonymous with being good at- well, being a girl. That was what all the 'popular' girls seemed to have in common- that they were just good at being feminine. So I aspired to that.
How does this link to body hair? Well, when you're being teased already, you sure as hell don't want to give the people teasing you anything else to use. We were girls, hitting puberty. People were talking about periods, shaving and so on and so forth. I quickly realised that shaving was something that needed to be done- if I didn't, I was scared stiff that I'd be teased for my body hair, on top of everything else. To be a girl, you had to shave. That was pretty clear.
However, I didn't get how- and that scared me even more. I tried shaving my arm hair, because I thought it was too obvious; then I overheard someone making a negative comment about girls who shaved their arms, and I was terrified I would be found out. I shaved my legs- and left more small nicks than anything else. The girls in my class, and the shaved legs on TV, didn't have any of the small cuts that peppered my legs. I was worried that I'd be teased for those, too, for making it obvious that I shaved. Each one of those cuts was proof that I failed at being a girl- and each one could be ammunition for more teasing. Armpits I could handle, just about- but one day stubble, and I resolutely kept my arms down, just in case. Downstairs was too terrifying to contemplate, though, as a swimmer, it was unavoidable. I wore a swimming costume with shorts for a while, and avoided anything that said 'high legs'; much of my changing time was spent tugging at the bottom of my costume, making sure nothing could be seen, scared that someone would realise that- shock horror- there were a couple of stray hairs peeking out.
As you can see, it was a pretty fraught area. However, it wasn't just the opinion of others I was worried about. My own internalised views about body hair were pretty strong, too. Get ready- I associated body hair with those weird lesbian feminist things. Disgusting, right?! I couldn't possibly be one of those, nor could I internally identify myself as one. That was another reason that I shaved.
So that was the whys. That's my shaving story. However, over the past year or so, several things have happened. Notably, the whole lesbian feminist thing. Through being an out and proud lesbian and feminist, I've met some incredible people- some with body hair, some without. Last summer, I went up to London for two days, to hang out with some of the most amazing people I know. At the time, at least two of them had very visible armpit hair. I was fascinated, because, for them, it was such a normal thing. They were people I loved and admired, and they had armpit hair, and that was fine. For someone who had spent so much of her life seeing hair as a bad thing, associated with bad things, that was a really landmark point. Then, at some point around then, a friend posted a picture of her hairy legs on Facebook. The whole post became a bit of a battleground- but the stupidity of the arguments against body hair really got to me. 'Boys don't like it' sticks out in my memory as the main one. To me, this was important for two reasons- firstly, why the hell would I care what boys think?! And, secondly, even if I did, why should that change anything about how I act and I choose to appear? It's my body. I get to do what I want with it. Lastly, in September, one of my very close friends did an amazing speech on self love. For me, that was the final piece of the puzzle. My body and I- we don't get on. The body love is, unfortunately, not very strong here. But, as my wonderful friend pointed out, we only have one body. I realised then that, if I never tried to challenge my beliefs about my body, then I would spend a lifetime hating myself. That was a really scary thought. I decided I needed to change that, to get to a point where I was happy with the land I inhabit. From that realisation came another- how can I love my body when I am choosing to remove part of it every few days? How can I ever love my body when, really, I don't know what it is, in it's natural form.* In spite of the assumptions most people made- that I wasn't shaving purely to be an angry defiant feminist- my decision was fueled almost entirely by self-love. And that's one of the biggest forms of anarchy, really. Also, my experiences with both feminism and the LGBTQ+ community made me see that there really is no way to be a 'good' girl- that everyone is different, everyone presents differently, gender is a different thing for everyone.
After that, I let my leg hair grow. A while later, I let my armpit hair grow. It doesn't sound like much. For me, it was. For me, growing my hair was opening myself up to being vulnerable, and maybe being teased. But, I realised, I wasn't the young, scared girl I once was. I had become more comfortable in myself- I had embraced being weird. I was ready to let my hair down- quite literally.
As I stopped shaving just before the winter months, it was quite a while before anyone saw the fruit of my efforts (I know that sounds weird, but you get what I mean right?!). The first time anyone did, I was terrified. I was in a Law lesson, and it was hot, and I was wearing a jumper over my vest top. So- I took my jumper off. And? And the girls sat next to me started whispering and looking my way. It might not have been about me. It probably wasn't about me. That didn't matter- I was still convinced that it was. However- it was okay. I wasn't 13 anymore, and scared of being found out for not being good enough at being feminine. I was 17, and I knew that femininity was a concept and didn't define my self worth. I was 17, and I had chosen not to shave my armpits, and that was fine.
I rocked the unshaved look for a good few months, including a trip to Gambia that involved lots and lots of visible armpits/legs. I got some odd looks. I had to answer questions about it. But having the hair actually made me feel really empowered. I felt like I was kicking patriarchy in the face, just by wearing a vest top. It was cool, and I was in control. However, recently I chose to shave again. This was not a decision I made lightly. In terms of my legs, it was something to do with liking the feel of shaved legs. That sounds weird. But you get what I mean, right? For my armpits, it was more complicated. I have really prominent scarring on my arms, and that draws enough attention as it is. At the moment, I'm not entirely comfortable with that. Having armpit hair only made that attention worse, and in the end I decided that I needed to be comfortable with my scars before adding anything else to the mix. There was part of me that felt like a 'bad feminist' for shaving- again, this need to be 'good' at whatever I identify with and represent. Obviously, that's rubbish- there are plenty of feminists who shave, and plenty who don't. When I realised that I felt that way, I decided that it would be a good idea to shave again, just to try and get over this need to be 'good'. Right now I am choosing to shave my armpits and my legs. It's a flexible thing. I'm sure that in the future I'll go through times of being unshaven; and equally sure that I'll have times of being shaven. It doesn't change anything. It's just a choice I'm making at the time. And that's fine.
Reading over, I'm not sure that made much sense. It's late. I'm tired. It's a subject I don't feel entirely confident talking about, but one I feel I need to discuss all the same. Feel free to ask questions etc. Have a beautiful day, and big love xo
