In many ways I am a bad feminist. I am only a person doing her best and sometimes I don’t do my best. If I was the perfect feminist I wouldn’t compare myself to other girls like it’s a competition where out of 5 billion only one of us can be smart, funny, pretty, and cool. If I was a perfect feminist I wouldn’t roll my eyes when a beautiful, skinny, clear skinned, woman complains because somehow in my mind being beautiful somehow absolves you of being a victim of awful, terrible men.
In an attempt to be vulnerable on this blog I want to give anyone that reads this a peek behind the curtain and while I try my best to come off as a super smart and witty woke person I still have a lifetime of self reflection to go.
Sometimes I shave
In classic annoying feminist fashion I do love being able to flash my grown out armpits to my father and when he winces like I’ve shown him a horrifying wound I can ask, “Why is it gross? Is your armpit hair gross?” And the answer to that is and will always be, “But you’re a girl!”
Like any woke modern 21st century couple my boyfriend and I have had the hair talk and because he is a real man body hair doesn’t bother him. My hair doesn’t bother me either; it’s actually a million times more bothersome to shave than it is to let it grow. That being said I am still guilty of shaving for the weekends I know my boyfriend and I will be seeing each other. And I’ve driven myself crazy thinking about this. Why do I (the most insufferable feminist I know) participate in this patricarical standard? I certainly don’t expect my boyfriend to shave for me but the thought of seeing him with my grown out leg hair literally makes me feel sick.
Possible hypotheses I’ve come up with include:
- I have politicized my body to be a statement against patriarchy rather than just a body that has hair that grows and therefore I’ve used my body as a tool to upset men more than just exist as it is.
- I still haven’t shaken the shame of being a young girl that was taunted and teased from missing a spot when shaving aND NOW ALL THE BOYS IN MY MIDDLE SCHOOL GYM CLASS CAN SEE THE PATCH OF HAIR ON MY LEG.
- Maybe…I like shaving.
Honestly when I’m not tortured by shaving my body every day I think it’s kind of…relaxing. When the pressure of having to do it everyday is alleviated I do think it’s nice to have a self-care day and shave, do a facemask, drink some water, yada-yada. This also gets into the topic of Choice Feminism. Do I really truly and undyingly like being hairless or have I been conditioned to think that I want it?
There are a million different directions the shaving conversation can go. We could discuss the trope in media of women living in a post apocalyptic world with wounds amongst their perfectly smooth legs. The Pink Tax is also a huge problem for women. The origins of women shaving come directly from 20th century American capitalism- and if there’s something I hate more than men it’s capitalism.
I’m not offended or disgusted when I see a man’s unruly pit but I also can’t help but think about how much nicer it would look bare.
Maybe…everyone should start shaving. Maybe capitalism wins this time.
