Leave My Hair Alone: The Politics of Depilation

Most women spend over a year of their lives removing body hair. That’s according to a recent episode of “Cherry Healey: How to Get a Life”, in which Healey took to the streets and interviewed random passers-by about their thoughts on body hair. The response was overwhelmingly negative; going au naturel was branded “scary”, “horrible”, and “dirty”. Several people said they would rather break their legs than have hairy armpits and a hairy vagina for the rest of their lives; one man chose breaking his leg over sleeping with a woman with a hairy vagina.

Healey herself admits to being obsessed with shaving, waxing and plucking; even the hair on her arms is stripped off regularly following a cruel remark from a boyfriend 15 years ago. Yet even she describes hair removal as “really painful, really time consuming, really annoying” and laments the “unrealistic idea of physical perfection” which drives so many women to the act.

The media bombards us with images of women sans body hair; the vast majority of mainstream porn depicts women with trimmed or waxed pubes; female celebrities who dare to not shave are lampooned and ridiculed by the press. Hair removal for women has become automatic and unquestioned. A ridiculous article on celebrities spotted out and about with hairy underarms declares that “there’s nothing more embarrassing for a woman than to get busted with hairy armpits, and when celebs are getting snapped 24 hours a day, there is no excuse for them to forget to shave”. Aside from the fact that these women may have actually wanted to go out like that, the overriding implication is that we should make an effort to not be caught out in our natural states. We should make society forget that our hair ever existed. And the Daily Mail’s description of Geri Halliwell’s hairy underarms as a “misstep” is a reflection of the way in which the female body in all its natural glory is still looked upon with disgust and contempt.

Why do we even have body hair? There must be a reason, right? Well, underarm hair wicks sweat away from the skin and helps maintain good ventilation. It’s true that sweat can cling to underarm hairs, but that’s what showering is for. Our underarm hair also harbours pheromones, scents produced by the body which are said to be sexually stimulating to others. There is much debate over humans’ sensitivity to pheromones, but papers such as this one list some compelling evidence.

Pubic hair keeps particles of sweat and bacteria from entering the vagina and causing infections. It forms an air pocket to keep the area cool, preventing sweat which will breed yeast and bacteria. Pubes also contain pheromones and even act as a dry lubricant. Body hair develops as a mark of puberty. It’s just one of the things which distinguish us from our prepubescent selves.

What many women aren’t aware of is that shaving the pubic area carries risks. It can get dirty and full of bacteria and, if there’s a cut, that cut could become infected. Ingrown hairs, which can be caused by shaving, are infections on their own and they’re very uncomfortable. The skin down there is very sensitive and prone to razor burn. Stubble is worse there than it is on the legs or armpits. Waxing is safer, but if not done properly can cause an infection. And, if you want to shave around your anus, remember that the lack of hair will make it practically impossible to pass gas silently.

A shaved pubic region may be sexually appealing to a man, but to a woman it means a number of health risks. Hair removal of any form should be an individual’s decision. It’s their body and their health, and that’s more important than their partner’s sexual pleasure. Everyone should know the risks involved. If you shave, think about why you actually do it.

There is a clear societal double standard when it comes to body hair. Yes, some men are pressured to shave by their partners – which I also disagree with – but body hair is frequently described as “masculine” and therefore the exclusive territory of the man. “Femininity” is equated with pre-pubescence. As Autumn Whitefield-Madrano explains:

“…body hair remains verboten for women because it breaks the ultimate taboo: gender…Body hair contains a threat, and in fact maybe it’s a combination of its embedded masculinity and its embedded female maturity that makes it such. Body hair is thriving proof that gender isn’t entirely binary (testosterone prompts its growth), and it’s also proof that women’s sexual characteristics aren’t limited to just the curves that make such nice statues.”

And I couldn’t ignore Laura Woodhouse’s excellent analysis of the politics of shaving:

“That’s exactly part of the reason I don’t shave – I think shaving, along with many other “beauty” practices, is part of the effort to create and accentuate difference between the sexes in order to allow and justify us being treated differently. It also causes us to see our natural female bodies as disgusting and as such can be another form of oppression (it doesn’t need to be, but the majority of defensive reactions to women who don’t shave their legs go along the lines of “well I just think it LOOKS better”. Of course you do, because you’ve grown up being told that female body hair is disgusting).”

And that’s partially why I don’t shave anymore. In this sense my decision is political as well as personal. I feel much more physically comfortable with body hair, but I am also acutely aware of societal beauty expectations and don’t intend to follow this one. If I don’t love my natural body, how can I be truly happy with myself as I am? Do I really want to be a slave to the razor for fear of being rejected by those around me?

My favourite part of “How to Get a Life” is when Healey pays a visit to Those Pesky Dames, a group of inspiring young women who produce YouTube videos “shouting about feminism, thwarting patriarchy, and generally annoying misogynists” (in their own words). They are brilliant advocates for challenging the beauty status quo – and they talk sense. “It’s really horrible that we have to feel so ashamed about natural body hair,” said one. All of them champion the principle of choice unhindered by societal expectations and pressure from partners. And that’s what it should come down to. It isn’t wrong to shave, wax or trim your body hair. But when it’s the only acceptable lifestyle choice being pushed upon us – when every mainstream media outlet recoils with horror at the sight of a woman going natural – there’s something wrong. It’s time for the body police to back off. And that includes you.