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A Hairy Conversation.

June 16, 2008

I’m going to the beach for a few days, and in anticipation of this totally awesome turn of events, I went to get my lower legs waxed, which I manage to do maybe 3 or 4 times a year.

Anyway, usually the waxer is a tiny, often older Vietnamese woman, and the talk is minimal (“oooh, so hairy!”  “Now turn over,” etc.).  Today was different, though.  Waxer was a woman maybe younger than me, maybe around my age, a brown-skinned American of indeterminate heritage.  She was very friendly and chatty, and we gabbed a bit as she was RIPPING THE HAIR OUT OF MY BODY.

We talked a little about my upcoming trip, but there was a little meta-talk about hair removal (how hard it is to wax yourself, etc.) and while I merrily noted how I was overdue, and the trip was my motivating factor, I was internally cringing about the fact that we both outwardly agreed that my legs were gross and unacceptable as-is.  And I don’t think that my legs/leg hair is gross, I just know that if I go about in shorts or a swimsuit or whatever without waxing or shaving or policing every fucking square inch of my body, I will be judged.  By men and women, who may or may not know me. 

I hate that I am asked to devote psychic energy to that policing; and even more, I hate that I capitulate to that policing; and most of all, I hate that I played along and vocally supported that policing.  Feminist FAIL.

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One comment

  1. you can’t tell me Steinem doesn’t get her legs waxed AT LEAST. just sayin’.

    last comment of the night, I swear. I think I’m making your blog uncomfortable.



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