Okay so as 20 something women we know the drill. We all solemnly swear, approximately age 14, not to bare a single hair “down there” when we … wear a bikini (or any other swimwear attire), change at the gym with friends (God forbid they should catch us on day 3 of re- growth Thursday) or when performing a show wearing fish nets (one of my personal vows) but there is one occasion when we swear most solemnly of all. It goes something like this – “Thou shall not, even in your laziest of fantasies, reveal thy pubic hair when sexual intercourse in imminent”. It’s the “natural order of western society”, accepted and mostly unquestioned.
However, around my 20th year on this earth and a good six years into my pubic vow, I stood in the shower, razor in hand and I questioned. Now, sadly, I wasn’t questioning the inequality a nation clearly enforces by expecting women to be permanently shaven, I was just feeling particularly lazy that day and running late for work but after weeks of continued laziness, curiosity managed to creep up on me along with my newly burgeoning ‘lady garden’.
I was curious as to how long this hair would grow if left un-tamed. I knew not of its potential in my post pubescent body so I decided, what with no current or perspective engagements on the horizon for my lower half, that I’d wait it out.
I waited it out a whole month and what arrived was admittedly a little out of hand in its quantity but, in essence, well groomed, spongy, and, dare I say it, inviting. With the occasional hedge trim I felt it could certainly be maintained. However, my seedling rebellion and revolution was swiftly severed by the prospect of the most sacred clause in the female vow. Sex was on the scene and my radical ways were re-buried for nearly a year and a half. Well almost, I did allow myself a laziness induced version of a runway strip. Old habits and all…
So, after remaining vigilant in my up keep for that great span of time (bar the initial post break up plumage, which to me symbolised my very own vaginal fortification)I read a book, the most enlightening book I’ve ever read, by Caitlin Moran, called ‘How to be a Woman’. In which she offers up her own concerns regarding ladies removing their hair to the point of imitating infancy. Its resonance prompted me to wonder if, in following the widely accepted method of hair removal, I had unwittingly adhered to a controlling minority’s perception - that women should remain submissive - by visibly erasing what is natural - especially when in the presence of men.
Not a new notion and not to say that most men feel we should subscribe to this ancient yet unfortunately ever prevalent ideology. Only to say that it should be examined and in turn stopped.
My concern over the matter was only heightened when I witnessed the most disturbing ‘freak out’ by a housemate the night the guy she was dating unexpectedly asked her around for dinner. I sat almost dazzled as one of the most attractive, confident girls I knew went into a complete meltdown because she ‘HADN’T WAXED’ but really wanted to sleep with him. At my suggestion that she simply hop into the shower and quickly shave I was met with a look of shocked scorn, as though even the mere thought of ‘just shaving’ on this most poignant of occasions was in direct breach of the united vow.
Steeling myself, I decided to offer up a final piece of instinctual advice, ‘why not just have sex, I really don’t think he’ll mind’. Nope … wrong move! This continued disobedience of the rules was greeted with a small sigh followed by immediate dismissal. Clearly I wasn’t the woman to come to in a time of true crisis. In fact, in that moment, was I even deserving of the title woman?
I was left bewildered and intrigued. I made it a personal ambition to find out if being hairy really was as scary as this girl was making out. I asked as many heterosexual guys as I could, (which admittedly is not enough to produce a particularly thorough consensus because I’m generally regarded as living, breathing, gay totem pole) but enough to hear a resounding NO. If they’re horny, they’re horny and our pubic hair would have to be concealing something pretty damn threatening, like a tribe of little pubic Bushmen armed to defend our vaginas from any oncoming defenceless penis, to truly put him off. Any hole is a goal in that moment no matter how it’s framed.
I’m definitely not going to pretend I’m an expert in all the weird and wonderful ways men potentially prepare for a sexual encounter. I will however happily state that their preparation will generally be a less intricate process and far, far less painful. Would we women turn a man down because he failed to remove every follicle of his undergrowth? Personally, I would have to question his motive if he had. I’m sure there’ll be women who find a hairless man exceptionally tantalising but we wouldn’t expect it as an unequivocal norm. It would be his choice. For the most part the magazines, movies and porn industry won’t be adjusting their image of women anytime soon so we must. (Although, if American Apparel’s latest mannequins are anything to go by perhaps we have a right to hope!)
(See top)
Go on, channel some of your inner Greer and take ownership: “Whenever we treat women’s bodies as aesthetic objects without function we deform them and their owners”- The Female Eunuch.
And so my dear comrades this is all I call for. The simple act of CHOICE to trim, tame, keep bushy or boldly braid. There should never be any form of unspoken agreement because lack of communication only ever produces two things... ignorance and fear, especially when it silently infiltrates the psyche of the young and vulnerable. So please fellow women, before the next time you unthinkingly eradicate your potential foliage. Stop. Hold your razor aloft (or up to your face like a microphone if it will help you to vocalise) and renounce your vow! Instead, do whatever feels truly natural and make a choice. Make your OWN choice and proudly shape your bush in your newly liberated land down under.
However, around my 20th year on this earth and a good six years into my pubic vow, I stood in the shower, razor in hand and I questioned. Now, sadly, I wasn’t questioning the inequality a nation clearly enforces by expecting women to be permanently shaven, I was just feeling particularly lazy that day and running late for work but after weeks of continued laziness, curiosity managed to creep up on me along with my newly burgeoning ‘lady garden’.
I was curious as to how long this hair would grow if left un-tamed. I knew not of its potential in my post pubescent body so I decided, what with no current or perspective engagements on the horizon for my lower half, that I’d wait it out.
I waited it out a whole month and what arrived was admittedly a little out of hand in its quantity but, in essence, well groomed, spongy, and, dare I say it, inviting. With the occasional hedge trim I felt it could certainly be maintained. However, my seedling rebellion and revolution was swiftly severed by the prospect of the most sacred clause in the female vow. Sex was on the scene and my radical ways were re-buried for nearly a year and a half. Well almost, I did allow myself a laziness induced version of a runway strip. Old habits and all…
So, after remaining vigilant in my up keep for that great span of time (bar the initial post break up plumage, which to me symbolised my very own vaginal fortification)I read a book, the most enlightening book I’ve ever read, by Caitlin Moran, called ‘How to be a Woman’. In which she offers up her own concerns regarding ladies removing their hair to the point of imitating infancy. Its resonance prompted me to wonder if, in following the widely accepted method of hair removal, I had unwittingly adhered to a controlling minority’s perception - that women should remain submissive - by visibly erasing what is natural - especially when in the presence of men.
Not a new notion and not to say that most men feel we should subscribe to this ancient yet unfortunately ever prevalent ideology. Only to say that it should be examined and in turn stopped.
My concern over the matter was only heightened when I witnessed the most disturbing ‘freak out’ by a housemate the night the guy she was dating unexpectedly asked her around for dinner. I sat almost dazzled as one of the most attractive, confident girls I knew went into a complete meltdown because she ‘HADN’T WAXED’ but really wanted to sleep with him. At my suggestion that she simply hop into the shower and quickly shave I was met with a look of shocked scorn, as though even the mere thought of ‘just shaving’ on this most poignant of occasions was in direct breach of the united vow.
Steeling myself, I decided to offer up a final piece of instinctual advice, ‘why not just have sex, I really don’t think he’ll mind’. Nope … wrong move! This continued disobedience of the rules was greeted with a small sigh followed by immediate dismissal. Clearly I wasn’t the woman to come to in a time of true crisis. In fact, in that moment, was I even deserving of the title woman?
I was left bewildered and intrigued. I made it a personal ambition to find out if being hairy really was as scary as this girl was making out. I asked as many heterosexual guys as I could, (which admittedly is not enough to produce a particularly thorough consensus because I’m generally regarded as living, breathing, gay totem pole) but enough to hear a resounding NO. If they’re horny, they’re horny and our pubic hair would have to be concealing something pretty damn threatening, like a tribe of little pubic Bushmen armed to defend our vaginas from any oncoming defenceless penis, to truly put him off. Any hole is a goal in that moment no matter how it’s framed.
I’m definitely not going to pretend I’m an expert in all the weird and wonderful ways men potentially prepare for a sexual encounter. I will however happily state that their preparation will generally be a less intricate process and far, far less painful. Would we women turn a man down because he failed to remove every follicle of his undergrowth? Personally, I would have to question his motive if he had. I’m sure there’ll be women who find a hairless man exceptionally tantalising but we wouldn’t expect it as an unequivocal norm. It would be his choice. For the most part the magazines, movies and porn industry won’t be adjusting their image of women anytime soon so we must. (Although, if American Apparel’s latest mannequins are anything to go by perhaps we have a right to hope!)
(See top)
Go on, channel some of your inner Greer and take ownership: “Whenever we treat women’s bodies as aesthetic objects without function we deform them and their owners”- The Female Eunuch.
And so my dear comrades this is all I call for. The simple act of CHOICE to trim, tame, keep bushy or boldly braid. There should never be any form of unspoken agreement because lack of communication only ever produces two things... ignorance and fear, especially when it silently infiltrates the psyche of the young and vulnerable. So please fellow women, before the next time you unthinkingly eradicate your potential foliage. Stop. Hold your razor aloft (or up to your face like a microphone if it will help you to vocalise) and renounce your vow! Instead, do whatever feels truly natural and make a choice. Make your OWN choice and proudly shape your bush in your newly liberated land down under.