Bring Back The Bush

He’d run his hands across my leg and frown at the stubble - looking up, judgement heavy in his eyes, “Getting a little prickly aren’t we?”

At the time, I felt embarrassed, like having this microscopic amount of blonde hair on my legs made me unfeminine, almost manly. When you’re young and still learning your own body, someone pointing out any “imperfect” part of you can pull you into emotional fetal position. 

The same man pointing out my two day leg stubble wouldn’t think twice about the fact he went to the gym that day and hadn’t bothered to shower. You want your sweaty balls in my face, but I can’t have a little leg stubble?

Okay, bro.

It always seems to be the ones rocking the dad bod, gut solid - Miller Light turned dense protruding mass that finds it acceptable to make demands of the female body.

My most recent mediocre male wore an impressively disgusting fur turtleneck year round - there was no beard trimming, back shaving or manscaping that took place and certainly no apology for his “manliness.” His beard connected through a furry little landing strip that ran from his neck down to his chest where there’d often be lingering crumbs of snacks past.

He was constantly nitpicking my body at home and quietly pointing out other women’s flaws in public. He’d chastise his ex girlfriend to me openly, calling her a hippie and thanking me for shaving daily, rubbing my legs, petting me, like I was a ‘good girl.’ It didn’t seem particularly patronizing at the time. I was blinded by love and the illusion he valued the time I wasted to seem “attractive.”

As women, we feel pressured to please men. Work full time, cook, clean, birth the children, take care of the dogs AND stay in the same size jeans I wore at twenty? No problem! Right?

Wrong.

Looking back, by saying nothing about his behavior and continuing to date him, I was telling him that he had a right to pass judgement on my body and that he was the ultimate decider of what was desirable. Well, not anymore. I’m fed up with traditional beauty standards and I AM DONE starting with body hair.

I remember the first time I shaved the lady garden. I went from full bush to prepubescent in a matter of minutes. It was alarming, but supposedly more attractive.

I’m sorry, but this was attractive to who exactly? Mediocre white men, that’s who. 

I’ve never once looked in the mirror and thought I was more or less attractive with or without pubic hair. In fact, shaving is annoying and time consuming and for that reason, women turn to waxing. Apparently the average woman who gets waxed once to twice a month will spend over $23,000 on services in a lifetime. I don’t know about you, but there are way more exciting things I could with the twenty three thousand dollars then to pay a stranger to rip hot wax off my vagina solely because a man says the prepubescent look is attractive.

Do you see him running to make himself an appointment? Not hardly.

So, why are we constantly chasing this ideal that doesn’t exist? There’s no amount of waxing you can do, no patch of pube hair you can shave and no magazine article you can read that will make you sexy. You have to decide what makes YOU feel sexy.

And here’s what I’ve decided. I was an idiot to accept a man like that. I’m not about to waste hours of my life making myself look like a seal for someone whose dick I have to search three inches of brillow pad to locate. I will shave my armpits because I want to - they itch otherwise. I shave my legs when I feel like it, which is maybe biweekly at best and only because I love how it feels to slide into bed with freshly washed sheets and newly shaved legs. But lady town? She’s unapologetically back to basics. 

My body is not an apology. I won’t apologize for the natural things it does. Neither should you.

I Am Bringing Back the Bush.