Hair Apparent

I am a hairy beast.

I fucking hate it.

It’s embarrassing and time consuming and a source of major shame and body image issues for me. It’s unfortunate because I feel that I’m actually a very low-maintenance person save for my obsessive need to rid my body of any and all excess hair. If I was trapped on a desert island and I could only have one luxury item you could bet your bottom dollar that mine would be a set of tweezers.

I once went a week without shaving my legs and the result was horrifying. Each leg contained enough black bristly hair that I could have brushed my own head with that shit. All it takes is a soft breeze to come rustling by and my set of freshly shaven legs will immediately sprout porcupine quills.

I remember first shaving my legs in the 5th grade or so. Admittedly, this might have attributed to the problem I have now. I probably started a bit young but you have to understand that puberty, for me, came with some very unexpected surprises for a girl who, up until that time, was naturally fair-haired. As the hormones started coursing through my body so did the immergence of my Italian heritage. At least that’s who Imma blame for this shit.

I’m half Italian. This, in itself, says a lot.

1/4 from my dad & 1/4 from my mom and for whatever reason I think that made me like DOUBLY hairy. I’m also a bunch of other shit but that did little to balance out the hirsute-ness imbedded within my genetic code. Before I started shaving I used depilatories which, needless to say, with my EXTREMELY sensitive skin resulted in nothing short of disaster. And, as I’m sure you’ll agree if you are even remotely furry, that once you START ridding your body of hair it’s almost impossible to stop unless you want to look even WORSE than you did before.

I had heard the old wives tales that said the more you shave the darker and thicker the hair would return and that scared the living SHIT out of me. I mean, I was already behind the 8 ball with hairiness and I certainly didn’t want to screw myself over any more than Mother Nature already had. By the time I hit the 6th grade I had started waxing… EV-ER-Y-WHERE. Legs, arms, face, stomach, back, anywhere I felt the presence of hair unacceptable. If I could find some peach fuzz, that shit was immediately sentenced to death by the ol’ hot & sticky wax and riiiiiiiiiiiiip.

This, also, was probably not the best idea I ever had. I can remember the day I decided to wax my upper lip even though I really didn’t need to. By the time I had ripped the strip from my mouth I had turned my nonexistent lip fuzz into a red skin mustache. I went to school the next day and told everyone that I had scrubbed my face too hard the night before. Yeah. Pretty sure nobody bought that.

I try to be thankful for what I’ve been given because lord knows there are fates worse than being hairier than a wildebeest. Were I not this way, I’m sure I would just find another area of my physical form to obsess over and focus my disgust upon. Shit, I do that anyway: cheesy thighs, flabby arms, double chin, flat ass, giant square hips, fistfuls of love handles, spare tire stomach…

Damn. If I wasn’t already spoken for, I’m pretty sure folks would be crawling through the innernet to get a date with the sexy-piece that I am.

I’ve spent a lot of my life lying to myself or living in denial about certain realities. I know I’m not alone with that practice. It’s just been recently that I’ve even been able to consider facing some of the harsher truths in my world. The more I embrace them the more I find myself “OK” with them and able to move forward to become the person I want to be. It’s weirdly refreshing; I only wish it hadn’t taken me 27 years to realize all this. I was born 3 weeks overdue so I guess being a “late bloomer” is just inherent to my nature.

So there you have it!

Perhaps as part of my desperate need for weekly therapy that I’m too cheap to pay a professional for weekly blogging schedule I will include an expose’ item, such as this one, where I mostly embarrass myself but in actuality help myself by being more open & honest and likely connecting with at least ONE other person out there who has a similar issue.

What are your thoughts on this idea?

Would you like to share a tidbit about your most unfavorable physical attribute?

Damn straight you will!

I just outted myself as a wooly mammoth, yo…

The least you can do is leave me a comment with tales of your horrendous toenail fungus or pervasive back-ne.

Oh, and before I forget…

Make sure you check out Mean Girl Garage to vote for this season’s Out of Tune Idol Winner! (Jules was nice enough to ask me to be a judge even though I totally flaked out on my duties last week…)

So hit those comments, bitches!

I’ll wait…



Filed under (me), just a thought...

12 responses to “Hair Apparent

  1. Ren

    Identifying compeletly with your obsession, I recall being humiliatedly bannished from our Family’s main bathroom as it contained our Father’s essential grooming kit. Boars hair brushes, Gingher scissors, and the covetted “Parker” butterfly razor! I do not think men of that era ever embraced the notion of “tweezing”. So the tweezers were confiscated by the Dam of the houshold. By no means was any security enforced, so….. As curious and furry little creatures. We all gazed in awe, at these most wondrous contraptions. Although we, a family of wide eyed innocents, did come to associate the use of these implements as somewhat dangerous.
    Still, I the eldest. Insisted on giving privilege to myself despite the risk. After all, I could teach the little ones the do’s and don’ts of it all. By no means should we be furry like a kitten, to be petted. We will rid ourselves of this stuff. Once and for all.
    Thusly, as this task was done behind closed doors, one would listen sharply for any creak in the floorboards or squeek of a door. This it what would always result in the inevitable, “nic” of the blade into, usually the boney shin. Then the blood, seeming never to cease. Trying frantically to control the flow of such, but never succeeding. And therefore always giving confirmation. Father speaks….What have you done to your legs?

  2. Ren

    Much later on, I befriended a European man. He was from Italy. He was amazed at how we, Americans were, as you say “obsessed” with this ritualistic plucking and shaving of our coats. He, relished in the argument of how, he felt this, our affliction with hair removal, to be a useless waste of time and money, not to mention. It hampered our spontanaeity, with the thing we all want most. To be close, intimate, au’natural. This, he considered intoxicating.

  3. Dude. I flaked this week. I suck.

    I JUST deleted the picture of a disgusting cyst I had on my back. My husband took the picture, so I could see it. Seriously vomit-inducing.

    AND I have a whisker that grows out of a freckle on my chin.

    And boob hair. Pluck-pluck.

    • girl, you are AWESOME for sharing all that. the mere existance of boob hair leads me to believe that either god is dead or just a hateful sadistic entity that exists soley to punish all those with a vag.

  4. i’m just coming to terms with my hairs. i still kinda hate them. bastards.

  5. Too bad you aren’t half Italian and half Irish. Hubby is and the hair ain’t there.

  6. boob hair makes me well up sometimes…for real, serious self loathing

    i also pluck out my fucking gray hairs with tweezers. they are not welcome.

  7. So there is nothing wrong with me really. I mean, nothing anyone gets to know unless they are fucking me. BUT I did want to commiserate with you on that “it grows back darker” shit that also scared the beejesus out of younger me. It is specifically why I have never touched my thin little polish girl upper lip hair. That and also SLC Punk, cause that girl he falls in love with at the end TOTALLY had a polish girl stache.

    • holy shit! i always remember that moment in SLC Punk BECAUSE she has the mustache. she’s super gorg so she totally OWNS that ‘stache.
      did you know?:
      the actress who plays her is Summer Phoenix, sister of River & Joaquin?
      i fucking love that movie and my heart breaks over the death of Heroin Bob everytime…
      (my inner pop-culture-nerd couldn’t resist the FYI-ing)

  8. Hi! First time reader here.

    I sympathize with you…completely. Especially about a breeze coming along right after you shave and you’re magically transported to “Pointlessville.” I have a sad obsession with plucking, I’m a nervous plucker….eyebrows, belly button, nipple hairs, and my recent discovery that makes me want to both vomit and hide…gray pubes. Seriously. It’s bullshit that must date back to my ancestry…don’t think it’s a coincidence that my mother’s maiden name is Wolfe.

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