I started writing this post back in November, but got distracted with more timely things, real life things, etc., but with the recent hoopla about Teh Horror! of Mo’Nique’s unshaven! legs! at the Golden Globes!, I seems like it’s time to dig it out and dust it off.
In my bio, I mention that I could be considered something of a cartoon, and my reticence to mow my walkers on a regular basis is part of that. Although I don’t usually consider myself a contrarian-just-t0-be-a-contrarian, every sexxxy, hairless, nekkid-lady ad telling me that love and happiness is just one scrape away makes me want to do my calves up in cornrows out of spite.
But on top of that, I got all kinds of reasons:
It’s easier. Duh. Shaving/waxing/depilating/whatever the hell else I’m supposed to be doing to render myself slightly less disgusting to the world takes time. I remember learning some years ago that my own mother (now 63 years old) still shaves in the shower every day. Everyday? For, say 45 years? What else could you do with that time?
It’s cheaper. Ditto, and double ditto. Also, have you noticed that shaving cream marketed to women is wildly more expensive than that marketed to men? Compare the ingredients and you’ll find no significant differences–menthol vs. fake raspberry scents, perhaps, and of course black vs. pastel packaging. On drugstoredotcom, I can see that 7 ounces of Aveeno Positively Smooth (for gals, Allure magazine-approved!) is $4.29; the same amount of Nivea for Men is $2.47. (If you do shave, you might consider this the next time you hit the store.)
Pants. It’s January. And even when its not, I usually wear pants. And even when I don’t, I usually wear tights. And even when I don’t, I usually don’t care.
I’m an old unmarried lady. I know the fact that I’m not “on the market” has something to do with my willingness to cast off the razor. The dude gets that I have leg hair and all sort of other unsavory, non-porn-approved qualities, and he has yet to cast me off. I doubt leg hair is my least savory quality, anyway.
Say something. I dare ya. All the time I save by not shaving I use coming up with devastating comebacks to Nosy Parker busybody assholes.
Now, to be totally honest, I do still occasionally shave. I will shave before Sister Dude’s wedding next summer. I shaved before spending the day at a water park with the Dude Family last summer, and before spending a weekend with PapaDork and that part of the family at a resort in Florida. I will shave, that is, in anticipation of a lot of bare-leg time with less fur-friendly family. (Strangers I don’t care about; I know that my appearance is already fair game to the man-on-the-street.) And were I to ever have occasion to walk a red carpet, I’d probably shave then, too.
Now lest my anti-shaving sentiment gets someone’s back up, let me be clear: my choice not to shave is not to make you feel guilty, or less feminist, or (maude forbid) judged. I make all kinds of compromises with the Big P–we all do–but I’ve learned that what I get from shaving (smooth, stranger-approved legs for approximately 8 hours) is not worth what I give up (the aforementioned time, money, and the sense that my body hair is morally neutral). So shave, don’t shave, whatever, you’ll get no shit from me. But if you start talking trash about “gross” and “dirty” and the like ? It’s on.
So: rock on, Mo. And rock on, my yetis.