I'm of an age when most people came into adulthood with as much hair (pubic and otherwise) as they could muster. Therefore I can attest to the hairless trend not being in fashion during the 60s and 70s. By the 90s, though, the hair-free look was popular.
If only L'Oreal knew the insecurities that lie below our belts. A whole range of products could eliminate the six signs of genital aging. Visibly reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. A big plus on hairless testicles, I would have thought.
One month before I went to a nude beach for the first time at 59, I started dreaming up ways to camouflage my private parts, scars, pale skin, and stretch marks. It had been awhile since I'd needed to worry about beach-body stress.
The Style section of the Times ran a piece on "Woman Who Dye Their (Armpit) Hair," (NYT, 7/14/15) The piece began with a priceless quote from 17 year old Destiny Moreno of Seattle who dyed her armpit hair Voodoo Blue courtesy of Manic Panic.
My little hiatus from shaving has been awesome. I've learned some new things about myself, engaged in some substantial, thoughtful dialogue with many peers, and got to play around with some social norms.
But as I was lying there on the waxing table, legs akimbo, I got to thinking. Why does Brazil rate its own wax? Is it like a national anthem or a state bird? Do other countries and groups have their own waxes too?
Women have hair on their legs. We have hair on our armpits. And on our pubis. And in a thousand other places. We're hairy, the same as men. And that's real. A reality that women, pressured by one another, insist on hiding.
In the avant-garde literature of the 1960s, female pubic hair was everywhere. Pubic hair marked the site we all wanted to see, to touch, to enter. It marked pleasures yet to come. Not today: Pubic hair has gone missing.