Are women pressed to choose a hair-free life?

Legs. Underarms. Eyebrows. Pubes. College newspapers have seen this op-ed across the country… Legs. Underarms. Eyebrows. Pubes. College newspapers have seen this op-ed across the country for decades, but since the issue haunts us still, here’s my take: Women, don’t feel pressured to get rid of your hair, and learn to love it.

Wait! Before you dismiss me as a hairy-legged feminist (which I am), let me make a few things clear. Yes, I am wearing Birkenstocks and admit to buying granola from the Co-Op. But if you think my choice is just some lefty fad, think again. In middle school, I actually begged my mother — who has plucked her eyebrows into oblivion — to let me start shaving my body hair. She claimed I was too young, warning that “once you start, you’ll never be able to stop.” After finally being able to shave for several years and eventually reading a women’s studies book or two, I did stop for good; now she’s the one begging me to clean up my act. As much as I love my mom, I can’t. Why?

First there’s the cost. Disposable razors? Shaving cream? Nair? Electrolysis? Regardless of cost, why not buy your body something it actually needs instead?

There’s also the sheer time that is wasted. I could go with waxing and be hair-free for a month, but then there’s the pain. How about disposable razors’ environmental waste? The annoyance of stubble? Reasons are ample, but the biggest is the simplest: To me, there’s absolutely no point.

Perhaps because of its overwhelmingly socially normative role in culture and particularly contemporary Western societies, there have been few scientific studies on routine female body hair removal. The most recent, a 2005 study published in Sex Roles: A Journal of Research, found that despite records of hair removal spanning region and time, the practice is universally a “means of transforming the body such that it more closely resembles the feminine ideal.” Well, OK. You probably didn’t need a study to tell you that. But a 2004 study of Australian college students titled “Attitudes towards Women’s Body Hair” published in Psychology of Women Quarterly concluded that, “although women say they shave their legs and underarms for femininity/attractiveness reasons … such rationalization or failure to acknowledge more fully the effect of normative pressures on their own behavior may carry negative implications for women.”

Basically, the societal requirement to eradicate something naturally produced on most mature female bodies in order for them to qualify as “feminine” or “attractive” not only reinforces artificially constructed gender roles, but can actually harm a woman’s self-image by augmenting body insecurities. In fact, a 1998 study by researchers Tiggemann and Kenyon found that women who left their body hair alone “were characterized by higher global self-esteem.”

And while all those body images are taking a collective societal beating, a few lucky people — mostly men, as it turns out, like the CEOs of Gillette or Procter ‘ Gamble — are making a lot of money. Syndicated journalist Cecil Adams cites “a sustained marketing assault” starting with a 1915 ad for a sleeveless dress in Harper’s Bazaar as the root of underarm-shaving, with the popularity of shorter skirts and sheer stockings making an easy case for leg-shaving a few decades later. There’s a reason why the media glamorizes shiny-legged models — and why feminists like me are discouraged from meddling with big profits.

Worried about potential lovers’ thoughts? Having dated women and men, I’ve surprisingly found women to be more likely to balk at a fuzzy leg or two. But who really knows — I don’t tend to hang out with many people who judge so superficially. I think of my legs as a handy litmus test: Anyone who has a problem with my natural body isn’t worth shacking up with anyway.

That’s not to say that the occasional kinky leg-shave for sheer pleasure is wrong; same goes for cyclists or swimmers concerned with drag. But the closest thing to a legitimate argument I’ve heard for routinely removing body hair is also the most popular and, sadly, tragic: a way around negative reactions from others, both perceived and existing. While it’d be nice if everyone had enough gumption to make independent decisions, society doesn’t make it easy. So don’t stigmatize women who choose to save money, time and a little self-image by leaving their bodies be. It’s something I didn’t question until college, but I’ve come to consider even the very personal to be political.

OK — now you can call me a hairy-legged feminist. And I’ll take that as a compliment and chalk one up to my self-esteem, thank you very much!

Ditch the razor and drop Lisa a line at lib2@pitt.edu.