I don't take my body hair very seriously.

There I was in the shower, scrubbing down, lathering up, avoiding the errant spray into my eyeballs from the busted shower head, getting ready for my routine. Start at the top, work my way down, and skirt the precipitous edge of near hairlessness. 

Left armpit. Check. Right armpit. Check. Lazily inspect my work. Missed a few. (this is apparently important)

Lather up the girly bits. Bikini line or bust. Prep the landing strip. Pause. And decide to skip it. Let the grass grow wild. I over-scratched myself right at the edge of the meadow and it's still a little tender, so this makes logical dermatological sense. 

Brace the left leg on the edge of the tub. Pick the razor back up off the no-skid mat. Prepare to dive in and kick those hairses' asses. 

Pause. And then I skip those, too. Cause fuck it. 

When did removing body hair become a critical part of daily, or even weekly, or everly, feminine cleanliness? Let's google it. http://bit.ly/S1BYA4

Once again, like the increasingly dysplastic hips of the aging urban youth from their saggy ass jeans, fashion is to blame. Before 1915, women tended to only be concerned with the hair that could be seen (on their heads, and for some, their face). But otherwise, really, why would they even think to care about what was under their arms, all up and down their legs, and in their deepest darkest dirtiest corners? They were covered by layers of gingham-printed muslin and served well as insulation. But! You don't know you have a problem until someone tells you that you do. Good job, marketing. Good good job. Generations later and there are full grocery aisles filled with any method you could imagine for removing all your various body hairs. Shave it off, burn it off, rip it off, pluck it off, laser it off or bleach it clear. A zillion products for every process. 

All because fashion changed. Some forward-thinking fashionista made dresses dare to be sleeveless. And in 1915, Harper's Bazaar ran an ad that "featured a waist-up photograph of a young woman who appears to be dressed in a slip with a toga-like outfit covering one shoulder. Her arms are arched over her head revealing perfectly clear armpits. The first part of the ad read 'Summer Dress and Modern Dancing combine to make necessary the removal of objectionable hair.'"

Ta da. Marketing 101. Take a normal part of the human body and make it shameful when in its natural state.

When hemlines got more risky and began to tease at the curves of a lusty anklebone, companies caught wind of their next marketing gold mine. Cause now that your armpits were as smooth as your face, shouldn't the waist-down region be just as slick? Body hair in all its forms except that which sits on top of the head is a curse, didn't ya hear? mmya!  (old lady wags cane in the face of the young and naive, then hobbles off to pluck her chin hairs)

So if we had never been told that our body hair was a curse, and that it was unsightly and unhygienic and masculine, what products would be down that grocery aisle instead? Seems like this could be the next marketing goldmine. Re-grow your body hair! Rainbow dye for the glammest of gams! Underarm shimmer, for glisten that lasts. Fragrant frenchie, for the fresh feminine frock. Muff magic. 

I feel like I should start an ad campaign. Maaaaybe someone with extra capital, a panache for inventing and a quirky dash of interest for the historically feminine, would then see my ads and invent something to make me legit! I vote Underarm Shimmer. Then I'd fist pump the air and walk off screen, my arms arched over my head revealing perfectly glistening armpits.


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