Happy Hairy Hippie Hoyden

Hippie-ization. It's a dangerous process. I've started reading feminist blogs, started paying attention to political videos about our current system, and it's gotten me thinking about why I do the things I do to "take care of myself." Certain things, like brushing my teeth, make sense for basic human hygiene. I like having teeth, I brush them. I like having nice smooth, silky hair, so I brush my hair and wash it.

But why do I shave my armpits and legs? Certainly, society doesn't demand it of my boyfriend, who sports a prodidgious amount of yeti-fluff. And I don't demand it of him - fluff is better than prickly stubble, in my opinion. Yes, I know we're not self-actualized cavepersons anymore but why has this instense fascination with women being dolphin-smooth everywhere become not a matter of personal choice and grooming, but an actual moral decision?

Saying that I don't wash my hair with commercial shampoo will raise some eyebrows and wrinkle some noses. But on the whole, most people will follow that up with "Your hair smells and looks good - no problem." There isn't a moral judgement attatched to the way I groom the hair on my head. It is clean, neat, and styled. How I acheive that isn't a problem for anyone. And if it is, well frankly, they have problems.

Back to 'pits. Shaving your armpits is a moral obligation for American women. If you don't, you're disgusting, unhygenic, and worst of all, unfeminine. Let's look at that delightful epithet.

Unfeminine (adj): having qualities or traits that are traditionally considered inappropriate for a girl or woman .

Inappropriate? Okay. I understand certain things fall under societal norms, such as having sex in public, laughing at funerals, farting in church. But isn't it interesting that traits considered unfeminine change at whim? Look at pants. Those evil, evil trousers. How dare women have separate legs and encase them in fabric? Voting is unfeminine. Being ambitious is unfeminine. Working outside of the home is unfeminine. Having short hair is unfeminine. I hate to say it, but any time a woman tries to do something other than have a baby, cook a meal at home, or clean a house, it seems she will eventually be labeled as unfeminine. Unless she's Emma Watson or Natalie Portman, who cut their hair short and get labeled as gamine pixies. That's Hollywood, for you.

Let's look at my new favorite noun:

Hoyden (noun): a girl or woman of saucy, boisterous, or carefree behavior.

I always thought being a hoyden was a bad thing. I love this word, and I'm embracing it and owning the word. I vote, I drink whiskey neat, I ride bicycles with pants on, I read and write, and I work outside the home. Let's be honest, I'm already a brazen hoyden! Why does the state of my body hair reinforce this fact?

Honestly, I couldn't care less about shaving my legs or armpits. I used to care. I used to care a lot. In fifth grade, when I hit puberty like a brick wall, gasp shock horror, my legs started sprouting soft, brown, fuzzy fluff. And I didn't care! Until my male classmates started teasing me mercilessly about the fact that I had boy-legs, dog-legs, tree trunks, and told me I was gross. Of course, I was also gross for having breasts, but they stopped complaining about those quickly enough.

I think my favorite argument for shaving is as follows: Having body hair is natural. Pooping is natural. Not everything natural needs to be seen. Okay, fair enough, but I have a counterargument: Does that mean that we all go around pretending we don't poop? Do we pretend bathrooms don't even exist? Do we ridicule and shame others for going to the bathroom?

No, we don't. Because everybody poops, and at one point we all grow up and go "Hey, there's no shame in that." We even have bathroom breaks.

The other thing is that men and women aren't being asked to commit to the same level of shaving. I am 6'1". I have a 36 inch inseam. 36 freaking inches to shave, every three days, all to pretend that a process that happens naturally doesn't happen. And men, if you don't want to shave your face, you know what? Beards look distingushed. As long as they're neat, clean, and trimmed, you can rock a beard and shorts and no one will say boo to you. I'm starting to feel like Sisyphus. My goal: Free my legs entirely of hair. I can remove it any painful way I want: yank it out with hot wax, sear it off with chemical pastes, scrape it off with a sharp blade of metal. Either way, I must, or I will be an unfeminine hoyden.

This is a great article from the NY Times about celebrity approaches to grooming, and I would highly encourage folks to check it out.

I really love Amanda Palmer's quote at the end:

For Ms. Palmer, the singer, the point is to free yourself from caring what others think. (Easier said than done.) Still, she tells young fans who mistake not shaving for authenticity: “You know what’s really cool? Wake up every morning, decide what you feel like doing, and do it.”

So this week, I don't feel like shaving my legs or armpits. We'll see what next week brings. I might regret this. My boyfriend might plead with me to abdicate my yeti princess throne. But you know what? I'm going to be Miss Pacific Northwest Wookiebitch December.