I'm just going to start by saying that shaving sucks.
After doing it now for almost fifteen years of my life, I can say with certainty that I hate it, and I would rather not do it. Why do I dislike it? Let me count the reasons: it's time consuming, super mundane, a little dangerous (who hasn't cut themselves?), and razors cost more than a blouse at Zara. So how did I end up on the road to becoming a real-life Chewbacca? Short answer: I got busy with more important things in life. I got laid off. I started a new job. I traveled to see my family for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And — oh yeah — I was single, and it was winter.
Needless to say, I got hairy real fast.
How far had I gone into my wookie-transition? I hadn't shaved in about two months, and my nether region hadn't been waxed in three months. To be fair, it was entirely my own fault. I pay for the year-long pass at European Wax Center, and I have a great relationship with my waxer. Every wax was like a therapy session; I walked out feeling like I could conquer the world and get laid all at the same time. It was easy enough to head over for a wax at their Midtown location; I just didn't do it.
Then, all of a sudden, Michelle Rodriguez isn't shaving. Miley Cyrus is posting picture of her glitter pits. For the first time, I was ahead of a trend! I wasn't necessarily super proud of it, but you gotta start somewhere.
Around this time, I decided to start dating again. I'd been single a few months, and I wanted to get out there again. So I joined Tinder. My friend and I set up my profile during happy hour, and it was on. Let me start by saying Tinder is effing hilarious: the captions, the photos, all of it. But I also think it's a great confidence booster if you are currently in a transition phase dating-wise. I started chatting with a few boys, and after a few weeks rolled by, I stumbled upon one guy who caught my attention. After a rough week, I threw caution to the wind and planned my first Tinder meet up.
We decided on drinks in Harlem on a Friday night. I deliberately did not shave in an attempt to a) be a lady and b) stop him from trying anything. Upon meeting this guy, I did not think we would hook up that night. I was attracted to him, but I was also really nervous and scared he was a murderer/rapist/creep in person. However, after my first Ketel and tonic, I knew I was into him. His face was giving me a LeBron James vibe, but his mind was all Jorge Ramos. I was loving it. Clearly, I’m not a demisexual. (Look it up.)
Eventually we ended up at his place for a bathroom break on our way to another bar. (Don't break the seal; the struggle is real.) We started making out, and before I knew it, we were hooking up. Now I never expected him to go down there, but he did — gladly. Before I could even begin to apologize for my lack of maintenance, I stopped caring. This was happening — wax or no wax, shave or no shave. And it did. Multiple times. I totally forgot I hadn't shaved my armpits, so during the grand finale, I was getting my cowgirl on when I caught a glimpse of my hairy ass pit. "Holy crap," I thought. "Keep your arm down, girl." After we finished, I thought it best I go home. I like to starfish and sleep in on Saturdays. But more importantly, I didn't want him to see exactly how hairy I was in the light of day.
In the cab home, I reflected on my most recent sexcapade, and decided I would only shave when I felt it necessary. It got me thinking about all the maintenance women do. Who is it all for? I don’t owe any guy anything. If I didn’t hear from this guy again because of my savage pits, he wasn’t the type of guy I wanted to have in my life anyway.
To my surprise, I did hear from LeBron Ramos again. I decided on a little experiment: "How hairy can I get before guys just won't go there?" The answer is: as hairy as you want! Let's be real, if they're into you, it's going down.
I did finally shave, and personally, I'm glad I got off the wookie train. It was the right time, and I feel better about my life in general. I have a new waxer, and she sings "All Of Me" while giving me tips on how to avoid ingrown hairs. Bottom line: I learned I don't have to shave, and life is really easier when you stop giving a f*ck what other people think.