So to get straight to the point (because it’s almost 6 in the morning and i need to wake up early-ish in a few hours) tonight i went to a party where i knew i’d be bumping into a few people i “know”. Mostly because the host is good friends with a lot of people whom i have kind of had history with. A fling or two here and there, someone i’ve gotten into a fist fight with, no biggie.
Just kidding, i was kind of freaking out. I mean, obviously, the reason why it’s called “history” is because it all happened a long time ago but realistically speaking, in a country with less than a million people population wise where there’s not a lot to do or places to be, i guess you can’t blame some for dwelling on things or holding onto grudges longer than they should. The cowardly (but safe) thing to do would have been to back out and stay home instead of showing up but hey, i’m not one of those aforementioned people, i can be mature and move on, right? So i went anyway with a few friends– but obviously dressed and made to the nines because duh, i’m not stupid.
Turns out my worries were futile because none of the people i expected showed up (thank God but not gonna lie, i was kind of disappointed because who was i going to slay with my on-point makeup game now? Jk– kind of).
Anyway, that wasn’t actually the point of this post. The point is, in preparation for tonight, i actually did some quick self-grooming which i would have been more than happy to put off until further notice. But upon doing so and upon reviewing my outfit choices for tonight and witnessing the absence of certain dreaded guests, i realized that not only were my efforts gone to waste… i was also…kind of disappointed in myself. And not for reasons you’d guess.
I’m talking about the body hair that went down the drain when i shaved my armpits and legs before leaving the house. I’m currently going through a phase right now where i’m discovering and rekindling parts of myself i never knew i had or thought i had laid down to rest back in my rebellious teenage years. But a part of this phase included me not giving a fuck and making the subconscious decision not to shave. I mean, i knew i’d have to shave sooner or later but up til yesterday, i was more than happy to let nature run its course within my follicles.
I was actually quite privately proud of the small-scale forest that i’ve been nurturing in my underarm region for the past few months. I rarely wear sleeveless tops nor go out without a cardigan (mostly because i think my arms are huge) but underneath, i took comfort in knowing that i was running my own underground feminist rebellion, something that i didn’t need to shout from rooftops or post openly on social media, my own private revolt equivalent to burning my bras (except for the fact that i really do need to wear a bra because it gives me good posture and keeps my nips under wraps).
And if i’m being absolutely honest, i liked the idea that i was being lazy and didn’t feel the pressing need to shave in order to feel clean and ladylike. Men aren’t expected to, so why am i?
All this…until last night. I didn’t even think much about it while doing the deed, it felt so normal like part of a routine, but now that i’m back in the comfort of my own space, i can’t help but feel like a sell out. I liked my long soft leg hairs and my armpit fuzz. I wore my skirts and shorts proudly without sparing a moment’s thought about what people would think upon closer scrutiny. So why did i feel the need to impress the people last night with my smooth hairless skin? People i didn’t even think of anymore, people who don’t play any part in my life except for dredging up bad memories. My boyfriend doesn’t pay any attention to it so why did it matter to me that they might have?
I feel genuine remorse and i cannot wait til my lovely forests are restored back to natural order. Also, since i don’t have B.O. and don’t require deodorant, i assure you that they were forests that Glade would be proud to name an air freshener after.
R.I.P. armpit and leg hair. Til next time.