What's So Scary About Being Hairy?

OK, I'm going to have to break the news to you all, and I'm going to try and do it slowly.


Just because
I'm growing my armpit hair...
does not mean
I'm going to hide them away.



QUELLE HORREUR, I hear you gasp.

Well, get over it.


I am already a week in to growing my armpit hair for a charity called Verity which supports women who suffer from Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (see my JustGiving page here). The movement is called Armpits4August, and it's like a woman's version of Movember. Except, people with prostate cancer don't suddenly grow excessive hair, and if they did, well, people with prostates tend to be male, and hair on men is universally accepted.

But hair on women?

I mean, who'd a thunk it?


My mother called me "brave". Someone said armpit hair is gross and disgusting, but promised to sponsor me. There was the "Can I sponsor you not to do it?" comment. And then there is the assumption that I will hide my armpits away, like they are a deformity, or something to be ashamed of.


Whilst in my head I sometimes feel a little self-righteous and think "Yeah! I'm doing this! I'm not a slave to the razor! The patriarchy ain't gonna tell me what to do with my body hair!", these self-righteous moments pass and I remember that actually, as a woman I should be able to choose what I do with my body, and that includes my body hair, and if I choose to shave it off, then OK.

One of the biggest things I've learned in the last year about feminism is that it is about equality for all, and the freedom for everybody to make their own decisions. Not the "right" decisions. But the right decisions for themselves. And that includes the things most people think feminists hate, such as make-up and shaving and high heels and short dresses and bras.

For me, I shave when I feel like it. I showed my mum my new heels I wore last night to a charity fundraising dinner and her first comment was about me not having shaved my legs.
Erm, you might be my mother, mother, but it's not up to you whether I shave my legs. In fact, it's not up to anybody else. It's up to me.

And also, I didn't have the freakin' time between caring for my elderly dementia-ridden neighbour and trying to research laptops for my travels. I've got shit to DO people. I haven't got the time to rush a razor up my pins just so I can satisfy expectations of normal.

And that is where the comments get my goat. Shaved legs, shaved armpits, and even shaved muffs these days are the NORM. The societal NORM. So therefore armpit hair, leg hair, and muff hair, are wrong.
Since when did policing and eradicating our own body hair become the norm?
Since when is such a hatred of our bodies so normal?

We are taught so much to hate our own bodies. And I'm not just talking about women anymore. Yes, I would say women are the main targets of the media and the cosmetics industry and the cosmetic surgery industry. They want us to buy into the belief that we are not good enough/too fat/too ugly/too unfashionable, but I would say that because I am a woman. I  can't away from the fact that I do not have a male perspective on this topic, and others. I wish I could have more discussions with men about how they are feeling. Because actually, whilst women's magazines are dangerous because they have articles on how to love your life adjacent to articles on the newest diets and hottest celeb techniques, men are also suffering from the cycle of self-hatred. Whilst women are given stick-thin models to aspire to, men are given macho muscle-men to throw themselves against the gym weights to look like.

Where's the compromise? Stick thin women and hyperbolic muscle men? The tiniest percentage of people look like that, and so it leaves the rest of us to just be miserable over our own, apparently inadequate, bodies.

I'm sick of being made to feel ashamed of my own body. I'm sick of being made to feel like I should be losing weight or toning up to compete in the world. My looks are not everything. I want to be healthy, not thin. And I'm especially sick of feeling like if I don't possess tanned, silky smooth legs that a handkerchief could float off of, then I'm not worth anything, or worthy of anything. The girl with the silky legs gets the guy, the self-esteem, the random beach holiday that women brandishing razors seem to get taken on. I don't want a guy that wants silky legs, thank you. I'd rather not have a guy if that was the deal.

And this is not just a Western problem - Chinese women are turning to cosmetic surgery to stay in their jobs. There is a global problem with body image, and something needs to be done.

We are, in a way - in a big way really - responsible for our own fears and insecurities. Yes the media can and does create a fear or insecurity but ultimately they create the opportunity for us to feel that fear, to harbour that insecurity. We allow it to take hold, to have strength, to possess our minds. That is why I still look at other women and wish I was as thin as her, or as fashionable as her, because I have allowed the idea that I am not good enough the way I look or the way I dress to grow and flourish inside.

But I am good enough for myself, no matter what my shape or size or length of armpit or leg hair. I have no reason to be good enough for anybody except myself. I feel like I'm being told I should shave my legs and my armpits and my muff because that's what people do. But why should I be made to feel ashamed for not doing that? The people that think it's gross, or disgusting, need to look at why they think that way. Who taught them that? Because science didn't - scientific research suggests that bacteria loves clammy, shaved armpits, and armpit hair suggests

What I want, what I would really like, if for all women to think about why they shave their armpits. Is it because hair is gross (science says no). Or because they think hair is gross (probably). And if that is what they think, then why do they think that, and is that the way it should be.

As I said above, one of the biggest things I've learned is that feminism is about choices, and if it is your choice to shave, then that's great. But I want you to be doing for you. If you are shaving because you're afraid of people's reactions, your friends' reactions or your boyfriend/girlfriend's reaction if you don't, then perhaps it's time to question not why people shave their armpit hair, but why people don't grow it. Don't do something because you're afraid of not doing it. Do something because you are afraid of doing it, like bungee jumping, sky diving, or growing your armpit hair...

And I would just like to reach out to all the women, and men, and say judge me on my personality, my beliefs, my flaws and virtues, and yes, my actions. But do not judge me on my looks, and do not judge me on my body hair. I am not a freak, I am not disgusting, and I am not growing it for you to pass comment on, unless that comment is the opener to a discussion or debate. I am growing it for myself, and this month for charity.




And here is my armpit a week in. There is nothing scary about being hairy.

A Quick Note On How Someone You Don't Know Could Just Cheer You Up Completely

*Trigger warning* rape threats in the linked articles

 ----

Looking at the comments on the article about The Co-op threatening lads mags with removal if they don't cover up their front pages was disheartening to say the least.

There was the usual feminist bashing, and outcry over censorship. And the strange "why not cover up the men on Men's Health magazines as well??" and "Women are always half naked in bikinis in women's fashion mags" comments.

I was despairing of the general population. You're missing the POINT, PEOPLE.

The point is that lads mags OBJECTIFY women.
Men's Health does not OBJECTIFY men. In fact, it portrays them in an idealistic light, creating possibly impossible goals for men to try to live up to.
Women's magazines do not OBJECTIFY women in the same way as lads mags do either. Again, they are creating an idealistic portrayal of the female form, one that it knows it's readership does not conform to because only a small proportion of women actually look like that and those that do are already models, duh, and despite this the magazine can direct it's readership to the newest diet on page 85 and the exercise moves that the celebs know how to use on page 102.

Lads mags portray women as objects to be looked at. So does Page 3. Looking at women as objects makes men less likely to see women as people, as equals.


All this after the weekend of abuse I'd seen thrown at feminists on Twitter, such as Caroline Criado-Perez, and also the MP Stella Creasy. An MP?! Thank you moronic misogynists, because you made your behaviour front page news and now even more people are aware of the hate you spew.

I was despairing, and then I saw this:

If you think your prejudice and your anger is working here, or frightening us, or forcing us into retreat, then please be assured that it works only to deepen our resolve and strengthen our voices. Every threat we get makes us stronger, and brings us - as a feminist community - closer together. It also strengthens our cause tremendously as you help us demonstrate the misogynistic attitudes still in play. You are the reason that the public sees our work as increasingly important.

And I felt my resolve, my strength, flood back. 

No More Page 3 and Lose the Lads Mags are not about censorship. They are about respect and equality. They are about education and changing attitudes. They are about protecting children, and protecting men and women from ridiculously outdated views. 

I stand with Criado-Perez, and with Creasy, and with Laura Bates of EverydaySexism and Lucy Holmes of No More Page 3.

And any sane person interested in equality should stand with them too.

Red Poison

He's drinking himself to death, and he doesn't care.


How am I meant to deal with that? 

Overwhelming & Heartbreaking

Once, when I was younger, we went on a family holiday to France where there were chickens and a VHS player.

(I think it was VHS, I believe it was still too early for DVD)

One night, we watched Mississippi Burning. I don't think it was the first time I'd seen it, I think I might have watched it in History.

But this night, I didn't sleep for hours.  Long after my mum had sent me to bed, I just cried and wrote in my diary about the state of the world and how much there was wrong with it and the people in it, and how will it ever be right?

That was also the first time I heard my sister talk in her sleep. She said the word hotel. Everything else was unintelligible.

The realisation that the cruelty of the world wasn't just limited to pets dying and being made to eat food I didn't like was overwhelming, and heartbreaking. When I dwell on that knowledge, that no matter what I do in life, there will still be so much hatred, so much injustice, it makes me so miserable and genuinely question what the god damn point of life is.

I want to do more with my life, to make a change for women, men, children, animals, Earth.

It troubled me: how could this kind of thing be allowed to happen? How can people just let it go on?

But there are many people that don't want it to go on. They don't like the status quo, because the status quo is shitty and racist or sexist or homophobic or discriminatory to those with a disability. The status quo means persecution by the military or religious fanatics or someone's own family. So they campaign, raising awareness and/or money. They protest and demonstrate. They petition for parliamentary bills, and some are able to get those bills through.

There's so many things to be changed, it's hard to think the people and time needed can be found.

I'm more of a donator, not a doer. I will spend in the charity shops and throw money in a tin. I buy the Big Issue as often as I can. I'm not saying this to make myself look good, because in actual fact I am a scaredy-cat. I donate my money because I don't donate my time. I've been on one protest march. I've "slept rough" once. Debating marathons the other day I said I wouldn't do one because I don't want to compete, I have never liked competitive sports. I was forgetting the fundraising aspect, the idea of doing something challenging to benefit those less well off.

I'm keen to look up volunteering projects in Oz, especially whilst I'm searching for TV work. I want it to be in addition to working. At the moment I find it hard enough to fit in living. 

I just don't know how people find the time to fit saving the world in, when it takes so much effort and time just living. How does Lucy Holmes find time to run No More Page 3? How did Laura Bates find the time to set up The Everyday Sexism Project? How much time does it take to monitor and update? And how do they cope with seeing so much sexism everyday? How does it not crush their soul and make them give up hope?!

On Malala Yousafzai's 16th birthday - a day many weren't sure she was going to live to see when she was shot - she delivered a speech to the UN. I can't imagine doing that at 16, I was so busy wishing I was popular and hating my body. She shows an incredible maturity. My cynical father said it sounded like her speech had been politicised - i.e a speechwriter had given her some help. And I said, why does that matter? She has a voice, she has a purpose, why does it matter if someone has helped her shape her words in a way we are accustomed to hearing from important speakers. Good for her if she's on her way to being a speaker that all the politicians and world leaders can listen to. Because we need them to listen. We need everyone to listen.

And we need more people to speak up. To create campaigns like No More Page 3. To highlight misogyny (and misandry) with The Everyday Sexism Project. To work on activism through UK Feminista.

My life would be unimaginable without feminism. But a world with equal women's rights is almost as unimaginable when you consider just how far away we are.

It irks me that I spend so much time worrying about my body and not worrying about women's reproductive rights. I actually covered this briefly in a blog back in September 2012:

"I have gotten to a point where spending time worrying about my skin or my thighs etc is pointless. It's futile. Why am I sitting here worrying about my weight, when I am probably 4 times heavier than an African child who has only eaten once this week and has no fresh water?
Why am I fussed whether my thighs are too thick for skinny jeans when there are people being trafficked?"

And my sister posted on my wall the other day part of a Vagenda article that helped reaffirm this disquiet I've been feeling:

'So here’s my resolution. I will be bigger and louder in 2013 than ever before. I will be braver. I will seize the day. I will make a difference to the shape of the world, not the size of my pants. I will focus my energies on helping to make things better for people, not eating less pastry. I will protest when people say society is fine the way it is, not when they say I’m fine the way I am. Because I am, and it’s not.'

Whether it's girls education, or female genital mutilation, or body image and sexist newspapers, there are so many things to overcome. If you stop too long to think about it, it could be overwhelming and heartbreaking. But use that, because that means something is wrong, and it is in your power to help change it.

There are so many of us in the world, but it only takes one person to make a difference. And no matter how small that difference may seem, it is a difference nonetheless.

Those Old Pair of Jeans

Most women will know where I'm coming from with this (maybe some men too?) - I have a skirt in my wardrobe I have never worn, because it is just that bit too small. I fit in it, but I don't feel comfortable in it.
My chunky thighs are pressed together in a way that is only desirable for ... Well, nothing, and no one.

WAIT! CORRECTION!
My chunky thighs are pressed together...

Because that's what these kinds I clothes make us do. They make us feel fat, simply because we don't quite fit in them. 

Like an old pair of jeans you might have in your cupboard that you used to fit into, and you will fit into once again, as long as you do that Zumba class/carb-free diet/miracle diet pill.

Being a bit of a stingy person, I hate the idea of having to buy new clothes when I change size, so the idea of staying the same size appeals to me for this reason. But lately, with my jeans slightly baggy and me hoisting them up by my thumb every time I walk, I want to get some new, better fitting jeans.  

But as I keep discovering, clothes retailers feel the same way about my body as I often do: love my waist, hate my thighs.  
I get their jeans up - just- over my thighs to find there's a massive gap at the small of my back which I HATE.
I am not skinny enough for really skinny jeans. I tried on a pair of "relaxed boyfriend" jeans. Size 8, space at waist, tight at thigh. Size 10, space everywhere, and falling down with every move.  

My gym-bunny colleague has interpreted this as more reason to continue my workouts. Perhaps.  

So what should I do? Wear more dresses? If only - dresses these days are either maxi dresses (where's Emma gone? Why is this dress walking towards me?!), shift dresses (my beautiful curves, where did they go?!) Or the kind that look like a blouse and a skirt sewed together (is this a tea dress?) which strain over my boobs, and sit tight above my waist in a manner that makes me feel as though I'm tied to a long line of slaves. 

If I knew anything about dress making, I'd make things myself, in my measurements, so that I feel comfortable.
But since I don't, I'm stuck with two options- buy ill-fitting clothes, or change my body.  

These clothes, these retailers, make me feel as though my body is wrong. This on top of tons of pictures of models and celebs whose body I will never be remotely similar to (because LEGS), and adverts for creams and lotions that will exfoliate, firm or just sit away my body worries (seriously, my “Sit Tight” Soap&Glory body firming cream says it works when I'm SITTING.) 

So I am convinced that I need to work harder, exercise more, eat less, pray longer, so I can get the thighs of my dreams and of a retailer standard size so I can finally buy some jeans that FIT.   
Of course, I could do all of that.
Or I could just buy a belt. 
But I hate belts. 

And also, exercising more and eating less will not change my feet, which refuse to be a size 4.5, 5 or 5.5 and therefore always fall out of shoes or are rubbed on the toe, heel or on the skin anywhere.
 (Saying this, I got two pairs of shoes today. But they're sandals! They don't count! I'm talking high heels for work or fun!)  





Christine: I mean, they kind of rub my ankles, but all shoes does that. I have low ankles. 
Richard: You think you deserve that pain, but you don't.  






So my feet, and my thighs, are wrong.
And I probably (definitely) don't care enough to change.

FML, right? 

The Curious Case Of Being A Woman

Sometimes I think being a woman is an impossible and thankless existence.  The way we treat the "fairer" sex is not very fair at all.  

For a start, if you aren't aware of Boris Johnson's latest gaff, I insist you acquaint yourself now.

[Assumes viewer has read it] I know, right?! It's a bit like, "OMG WTF?!" 

The comments about Marion Bartoli after she won the Wimbledon Women's Final were unbelievable. She doesn't deserve to win because she's ugly? Because she's fat? Because she's French?! 

So we have a range of insults from the xenophobic to the disgusting and just plain stupid comments about her looks (what a person’s face looks like does not affect their athleticism! If Marion Bartoli were actually fat, then we wouldn't be the kind of athlete that could play 7 matches and win the tournament in less than a fortnight.) 

The one comment I caught from the article was "For the first time ever a man wins the Wimbledon final!"

The comment that she looks like a man, that's what gets my goat. An athlete, the stamina and skill of which many people could only dream of possessing, doesn't fit the stereotype of a woman. A "real" woman. A woman with curves, a great rack and a packin’ booty, but not fat, in fact slim, thin even. Not “fit” like Lisicki.   

When a woman wants to succeed in life, particularly careers, often advice leans toward watching how your male colleagues act and emulate them. They are more likely to push their ideas forward, more likely to be promoted, more likely to ask for a pay rise. So we are encouraged to act like men. BUT! Not too much, or you'll be derided for being too manly, in a similar way to how men are derided for being too girly. 

Being like a girl is a bad thing.

And not being girl enough is a bad thing.

Rock and a hard place much? 

Pour example, Milady faces a dilemma after she has been imprisoned by her brother.

 

Oh how awful! She isn't a man, that most excellent and fantastic of creatures. She is but a mere woman. Woe is she.

There is one significant aspect of my life where I feel that this has been the case with me. Where I have tried to act like men and use the same behaviour, and in a way it has backfired.    

Grandparents, if you're reading this, you may want to look away for the next paragraph. (Or 5) 

That aspect of my life is sex. It is sleeping with who I want, when I want, and as many or as few times as I want. It is exploring what I like at the same time as exploring who I like.  

And it got me quite the reputation.

I have said "yes I'm a slut" because I felt powerful. Even though I was using a word loaded with negative connotations, I was using it as though it were a fact, not an insult. 

I thought that using sex, using men, would make me happy, because men were so happy doing it themselves. If they are doing it, why can't I? 

I was trying to be feminist, but I was just falling into that trap of acting like a man, whilst trying to be an equal woman. 

Now, I have never felt freer. I feel free to make my own decisions about my sex life, and also my love life. Before I have felt trapped in relationships because of the fear of losing friends or from being alone. But let's face it, losing friends and being alone seems to be par for the course with me. Learning what I want in the bedroom and outside of it too has meant hard decisions. I fully support people's desire to have casual relationships, and particularly for women to have casual relationships with men or women without fear of retribution.

It can come with consequences though, and whilst one would be a negative rep, 9 years after I first embarked on this adventure I had to face up to the consequences of falling for someone with which I was having a casual relationship, and I had to walk away from it.

It doesn't hurt less because I've known so many men and will hopefully know many more. (Contrary to popular belief, "man-eaters" can have feelings too).

But it hurts less knowing that I made the right decision to save my sanity and my heart.

It still hurts though. 

I distinctly remember thinking that losing that sacred innocence known as virginity was the gateway to adulthood. Men are certainly taught this. But it was only when I started doing it I noticed the social consequences, and no doubt I've been lucky.

We need to take back the words “slut” and “whore” and “stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it ok for guys to call you sluts and whores.”

We need to accept that all women are different - some women want monogamous long-term relationships, and others want several non-committal casual ones. Neither woman is worth less than the other. 

I am not worth less than any other woman because I slept with more than one guy. I am not worth more than any other woman because I do not conform to the societal norm of monogamy. 

And I am no less ‘woman’ and no more ‘man’ because I sleep with who I want.  

I am all woman.

And all women are different.

And all men and women are equal.

I am equal.

True Friends Stab You In the Front

My worries about being friendless dominate my thoughts.
I do have friends. I just see them very rarely. Or they don't live near me.
But I have lost friends in the last year, two years that I miss greatly and feel that I will never get them back. Our lives have moved on. And often, I feel wronged, feel abandoned, so I don't make the effort to reach out.
Gosh. Such a victim complex. Is there a specific word for that?

What I realised recently is that actually I am not a good friend. I'm terrible at texting back, at communicating, at organising get togethers or catch ups.
I've never been one of those people. I have always felt as though I am intruding on other people's lives. That, if they wanted to see me, they'd let me know, and that I shouldn't impose myself on them.

I think I used to be a good friend. I used to listen much more, and definitely better. I used to be an agony aunt and the peacemaker of a group.
I used to defend my friends, usually male friends, and my right to have them against the insecurity of boyfriends. No man will ever make me choose them over my friends. Not as long as I have friends.

Not having a multitude of friends means I live a lot in my head. Or escape into other worlds. Reading, television, film, games. A crutch. An enjoyable crutch.

I keep coming across articles that attributes a lack of satisfying social life or interaction with other people, particularly friends, to depression and lack of well-being.

I lack well-being. But I need to focus on the other aspects of well-being, and when I have the opportunities to interact with people, with the friends I do have, I will make the most of them.
And the pain of loss? I'll focus on building those walls. I used to be better at that, too.

I do not want to end up like Liz Jones. I will undoubtedly become a crazy old cat-lady. But my friends can come round and cuddle with my cats when their other halves are allergic.


"You often worry about being alone?"
"I worry about hurting. Being alone comes with a dull ache, doesn't it?"


Yes it does. A bit like my headache, actually.



Update: I feel like I have written this very well, so if anyone is offended they must please tell me, and I'll try to explain. I'm not sure I've done very well explaining myself here.