I Did No Shave November, and Now I’m Re-Thinking My Body Hair

I’m not exactly proud to admit this, but I know I’m in good company: I shave because of hair stigma. Since the moment I began shaving, I was told you were supposed to be hairless and that guys like it that way. Now, in my early-20s, I find myself shaving even over the idea that a guy might come along when my legs are at their hairiest, and my lack of smooth skin will send him running to someone who never misses a waxing appointment. It’s stupid, I know. I feel like a bad feminist because of it, but I’ve actually had conversations with past flings about body hair and the preference I’ve encountered has nearly always been “less is better.”

So as No Shave November rolled around, I thought, Wouldn’t it be great to be free from worrying about shaving? I tossed my razor and spent the month trying to embrace my body hair. It turns out I didn’t hate it as much as I expected.

At the beginning of the month I found myself explaining my assignment to everyone. I called my parents and told them, I briefed my roommates, and I even mentioned it to my ex when we caught up over coffee, knowing that he would definitely not be seeing any part of me that I’d normally shave. For some reason, I felt the need to warn everyone I was going to be a hairy monster for the next month, so if God forbid they saw stubble—or maybe even a full-fledged strand—they’d know why.

Katie Friedman

As my hair started growing, I was careful not to wear anything that would show my legs or my underarms. I didn’t want anyone seeing, or worse, accidentally brushing up against my prickly hair nubs. Why was I so concerned? Probably years of incorporating shaving into my routine. No matter what, every week, I always shaved. Like many, I started in middle school. I wore a uniform everyday and I knew one girl whose older sisters told her to shave her thighs since we wore skirts and knee-high socks. All of a sudden, I was acutely aware of my hairy knees and thighs, so I started shaving too.

As I got older and summer rolled around, I noticed girls with hair peeking out of their bikinis and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to me. I didn’t mean it as shaming, but those words my friend’s sisters said about hair had found a new way to manifest. I shaved and my high school boyfriend told me how much he liked it, so it stuck. As time went on, it became necessary for me to feel totally “done” and ready to take on the world—even if no one was going to see or touch those parts of my body. Then I just kind of did it regularly without thinking twice.