Spoiler Alert: I’m talking about body hair and I’m also talking about the love below. If you are a young reader, you may want to have a discussion with a cool aunt, older sister or your mom before or after reading this. I’m kinda graphic, but it could have been much worse. If you are a man, you may get privy to how to have a civil conversation with your lady about her parts without wrecking her sexual self-esteem.
Back in the late 90s early 2000’s a lot of rap artists put silly skits in between songs. One of the quotes often quoted by me and my friends come in the form of a skit called the “mad rapper.”
The angry rapper was just a certified, bona-fide, hater and he’d always have someone say, “Tell em why you mad, son.” And then he goes on his rant.
Well I had that moment today.
I need to get my eyebrows threaded. Yes, I am that chick. I’ve stopped waxing because, it seems to last longer in my opinion.
So I purposely go to the quiet mall that elderly people like, and get my brows done during my lunch break.
No one is ever in that place.
Oh, but not today. There was not one but two young girls. One clicking away on a cell phone. She was probably 13 or 14. The girl in the chair getting her brows done looked like a younger sister maybe 9. The little girl is saying, “ouch, this hurts.”
The older one not looking up from the cell phone says, “it’s supposed to.”
So I sit and wait hoping they will leave. Nope, the older snarky one still has to go and is telling the eyebrow stylist (I made that up) to just hold on while she’s figuring out why her instagram isn’t working.
I’m through so I walk out and go to the sad, sad food court to eat and hope they are gone by the time I return.
I eat, I return and now their mother is hovering over the chair inspecting the handiwork of the eyebrow stylist, and with her is a third adolescent girl.
I was so mad.
First of all, I never got my eyebrows formally waxed until my freshman year of college. And boy did it make a difference in my features. We aren’t friends anymore, but thank you Maya, wherever you are.
Back to why all of this matters. I couldn’t believe how casual these girls, who were all under 17 were about getting their eyebrows done.
It made me a little sad. Then it made me think of how I didn’t have a problem with any of my body hair, until other people pointed it out and made me feel bad about it. So people are starting on these girls, really early. Or I was just really sheltered and oblivious.
I really wasn’t aware of my hairs, or how unattractive they are to society until middle school while working on my rocket in technology club a boy pointed out he could see my armpit hairs when I raised my arms to work on it.
I was mortified.
Until that day, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, those hairs, and that boys were looking up under there.
I immediately took my dad’s razor and began secretly shaving my pits.
I’m so sorry daddy. Here you are shaving your face after I’ve shaved my little 13-year-old pits. I’m so, very sorry.
Then I found out a year or so later on the volleyball team that leg hair just really had to go too.
I was so depressed. So I shaved my legs, once again with daddy’s razor. My mom didn’t want me to start shaving and said so when I brought it up. So I snuck. So sorry daddy.
When the other only black girl on the team, a year older than me declared she didn’t shave above her knees, I felt as if that was a good idea, and so, I didn’t shave above my knees.
I told them to go take a hike when they all agreed one girl on the team was perfect because her thighs never touched when she walked.
I decided in my mind that girl was a genetic anomaly and that a little contact while you walked wasn’t a serious issue.
It wasn’t until college that I realized men were waaay more obsessed with the “hair down there” than I was.
For spring break one year, I knew the importance of keeping the bikini line clean and raced for the Nair. I wasn’t about to be looking crazy in South Beach.
But once again, sheltered little me didn’t know the rules of the game.
I was so busy concentrating on the bikini line, a Miami weed man with dreads, and Caribbean accent, who was crushing on me that week complemented me on my confidence and declared my “happy trail” was sexy.
I was totally confused as to what he was talking about. Noticing I needed further explanation, he tickled my stomach and stopped just short of my bikini bottom.
Damn it. Those little bitty hairs? You have to shave your stomach too? I must be a hairy monster.
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
I was so embarrassed. He could tell I had no clue and he just kept telling me how cute I was.
I went back to the room and commenced with the Nair on my stomach too, just below the belly button. Damn.
I honestly thought the hair on the love below was supposed to be there, because it was there and more covering for well, the private parts. And after having a first sexual partner, who was my long time boyfriend, who never had a problem with it or mentioned it, it didn’t occur to me until a couple of partners later, hair or no hair was such a big deal to certain men.
One jerky boyfriend during my early 20s wouldn’t leave it alone.
“You should really shave it. It will make it feel better, for both of us.”
I was livid.
I felt like he was rejecting me and my little lady. That it wasn’t good enough, which was a damn lie, because my first loved me and it, and had no problems with saying hello face, to, um face before, now he wants to bring this up.
So after that conversation, and finally the end of that relationship, I decided that it was my choice to shave or not shave because it was a private part of my body and you can take it or leave it.
So that was my take on it. If you want some of this lovin bad enough. You will take it as it is, however I decide I want it.
I blame porn. Silly men and their silly porn.
Years after the boyfriend with no tact who made me feel like I had an ugly kitty, I had another lover who used a different and most effective approach.
“It’s beautiful, I love it and I will still enjoy eating you out, however if you shave it, it will help me do an even better job.”
And Bingo was his name oh.
I didn’t have no Harriet Tubman speech about accepting my hairy parts, and accepting me and rejection and the are you a pedophile question session.
The hair? Gone.
But at a certain point in time, I came to the conclusion that sometimes I like being bare and sometimes I keep it au naturale when I know I’m not having company for awhile. It depends on how I feel and to me that’s the point. I’m not asking for anyone to lean one way or the other, just feel good with what it is you’ve got and don’t let anyone else sway you.
That’s your stuff!
I do believe you should make it as presentable as possible for your special partner, but you should ALWAYS do what is most comfortable to you.
I know I went totally left today. I’m gross. Some of you may stop reading my blog forever. If I went too far, I’m sorry. But this was the post on my heart and mind today.
But seeing how these really young girls barely batted an eye at the thought of body hair removal and how long it took me to even understand the hairs, let alone the social, and sexual implications of it all, I had to laugh and I had to share these thoughts.
I’m glad I had a childhood. I’m glad I maintained my innocence for as long as I could.
Maybe I was late to the hair removal game, but if I joined it any sooner than I did, I would be even more jaded than I already am. I’m glad I was militant about shaving my special parts early on, and I’m equally glad someone showed me the other side of the argument in a nurturing way.
And for those wondering during the college years and after… I bring my own razors when I visit home.
My poor, poor father. God bless him.