To Shave or Not to Shave: That has Always been the Question!

Of all the feminist issues I have dealt with over my thirty-six years, the decision to have hair on my legs or to get rid of it has been one of the most contentious and publicly debated. I would say that for the past fifteen years I have shaved only 10% as much as my female contemporaries. This has led to arguments, harassment, self doubt and finally acceptance. And now I am turning a corner in this journey and want to tell everyone about it.

It started back in high school where, like every teenage girl, I shaved my legs because it was the right, and only, thing to do. One day my junior year, I was walking around the neighborhood with a casual friend. I happened to glance down below her shorts’ hem and saw something dark on her legs. I gasped internally and spent the rest of our walk trying to sneak a peek and understand what I was seeing. This friend was already a crusader for human rights and I concluded that the two must be linked: only a woman cool enough to take political action at the age of seventeen could get away with hairy legs.

My first year at the University of Michigan brought me into contact with Leslie. Leslie was the hairiest and most beautiful woman I had ever met; she was also Italian and the hair on her upper lip, legs, and underarms was very dark. My second year I moved into a co-op (with a bunch of hippies, myself included) and met more beautiful, hairy women. The most interesting part to me was that their boyfriends found them to be sexy and gorgeous. This was a powerful lesson to me about the difference between societal standards of beauty and the reality of what average men and women find to be attractive. I stopped shaving my legs and felt free from the waste of time, energy, and product costs.

Then, I headed across the world to live in Israel for ten months. I was nervous about how my choice to not shave would be received in a macho culture. It turns out I was one of three women who didn’t shave on my program. I became best friends with Annie and I remember sitting on the tour bus, heading into the desert with our dangling legs bumping into each other and her saying, “Doesn’t it feel nice—hair against hair.” And I thought, yeah, it does feel nice—soft and no prickles.

My internal acceptance of the naturalness of having hair on my legs was growing, but the external reactions were still harsh. I had an encounter with an Israeli taxi driver who’s native language was Arabic. However, when he shouted at me in broken Hebrew that I looked gross and needed to shave my legs, I yelled back in my broken Hebrew, Ha goof sheli! This is my body! When back in the States, a homeless man yelled at me as I walked by that I looked like a man.

Over the years I have become more curious about why it is so offensive to others that I have hair on my body. Usually, I don’t shave all winter and then shave once or twice in the summer. I try to see what I can get away with, but I’m also very self-conscious and selective about how I dress.

And now, the twist! A few days ago I removed my leg hair with that removal cream because it was really hot, I wanted to wear shorts, and I didn’t want to be hassled. When the weather cooled temporarily, I wore pants and noticed that I really liked the feel of the fabric on my smooth legs. I realized that I was enjoying my smooth legs, not because society was telling me I had to, but because it was just a pure, personal feeling. I want to do it a whole lot more often, but still stand in solidarity with my female contemporaries who choose to rock their natural leg hair.

What am I getting myself out of?

I once heard Maya Angelou give Oprah a splendid piece of advice. Ms. Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are the first time, believe them." And I have diligently exercised that wisdom while dating. It's not that I won't give someone a second, or even third, chance. I have! But, when I see something glaringly awful--like the person spends the entire date talking only about herself and never asks me who I am--I accept that this person is not who I'm looking for. Likewise for lifestyles. Wanting children or being an Olympic-like athlete are deal-breakers. There's not anything wrong with those choices, but they are not compatible with mine.

When it comes to jobs, though, I am not nearly as vigilant. I think I just need the money so badly that I ignore the reality of a bad fit. On my first day of work I sat in a meeting and listened to one co-worker confront another about being racist towards her. The group's response was to focus on the woman who was confronting to figure out what her problems were. I was stunned. My heart sank and I thought, "Oh my god. What am I getting myself in to?" Next it was the head of the organization calling me "stupid" and telling me I was "an idiot for believing anything the kids say." I was told to take this with a grain of salt. The organization offered up the idea that the director had brilliant gems wrapped in difficult packages and that I should ignore how it is delivered and just accept what is on the inside. I think that is insane. I also find it shocking that an organization that is dedicated to helping children recover from abuse allows the director to abuse the staff. And then there was the instance of neglect. I let it all go at that point, knowing that I would rather work at King Sooper's bagging groceries than not stand up for a kid who can't stand up for himself. Pretty soon after that, I quit.

By the time I leave a job that isn't for me I'm usually miserable, depressed, and very agitated. This time I saw the red flags again and again and I kept trying to make it work. I was afraid of being destitute, of failing at my dream job, and derailing my plan to work the two years necessary to get a professional social work license. These fears kept me at my current agency.

But, as I said in one of my facebook posts, I finally reached the point where the fear of change was eclipsed by the fear of staying the same.

What job next? A ramble.

Yesterday I remembered that in 1997 I got an astrology reading by a world-renowned Hindu astrologer (and my best friend at the time's husband) in which I was told I would have five children and they would all be boys. I got the reading because I was very ill and alone and was grasping for any sense of security and meaning I could find. Actually, most of the reading was eerily accurate. I went on to practice astrology professionally for many years and I still do an occasional reading. But the part about having five boys sounded ridiculous to a woman who never wanted children.

Today, I have my five boys. Six to be exact. They are the teenagers that I work with as a therapist at a residential treatment center. I also thought about how I have Uranus in the sixth house and how this is interpreted as having a daily work experience that is erratic, unpredictable, cutting-edge and strongly dynamic. This accurately reflects my experience of work over my lifetime. And I am reminded that my crazy patchwork quilt of job experience is valid for me. I will probably never hold a job position for ten or even five years. I need to constantly grow and shift and enact previously unexplored parts of my career self. With this need for freedom and change comes a whole lot of uncertainty.

Right now I am at yet another juncture of change. I have worked in my current job for six months pouring passion, love, thoughtfulness, and joy into it. I have also experienced a steadily increasing feeling of uncertainty about my abilities. I have suffered verbal abuse disguised as teaching. I believe the organizational culture I am working within is toxic and disempowering. The last straw happened this week when my superiors made a decision about a child that I felt was neglectful and wrong. While I can decide to take the abuse myself, it is impossible for me to ignore what I perceive to be endangerment to a child. I made my peace before emailing HR; I decided that holding on to this position is less important than standing up for a child who has no voice. I expect to be labeled as a trouble maker and I expect that my managers will close rank to protect themselves and get rid of me. In any case, I have decided to move on. So, I am sitting with the uncertainty of what job position I will have next and where my next paycheck will come from. And I am trying to believe that I will find another position soon that I will enjoy and feel good about. This is where I am.