No Shave November can basically be summed up to one phrase: there’s hair everywhere!
As the fall leaves have officially left their branches and our fur coats have resurrected from the dusty chests they’ve been hidden in, it’s time for Pussy Whipped to revisit an oldie in celebration of November’s passing and December’s awakening.
Not dwelling on the fact that PW had to take a small two-week hiatus too much, you be happy to know that we are back and on fire. But first thing’s first, let’s clear up some unfinished business. At the beginning of last month, we told you that we would be participating in No Shave November and the stand against cancer and gender, double standards. Not sure about you, but you’ll be happy to know, we kept our end of the bargain.
I was the female Chubaka and to say the least, I was not feeling it.
We dumped all of our razors and shaving kits for 30 days and we definitely had the hair to show for it. As the acting voice for this segment of ’30 Days,’ I’ll take you on a little journey down memory lane to share my hair-growing experience.
No Shave November can basically be summed up to one phrase: there’s hair everywhere! There was hair on my legs, hair on my vagina, and hair on my pits. I was the female Chubaka and to say the least, I was not feeling it.
I started my 30-day journey a bald eagle if you will, filled with bliss and peace of mind at a pretty smooth, well-kempt body. By day five of my struggle journey, I started getting a bed of unwanted strands in the most awkward of places.
I could feel the sweat seep into the corners of my arms and the deodorant applied that morning form tiny balls.
Like all women, I’ve been lazy, and resisted shaving my legs before and admittedly, I’ve dropped the ball on shaving my pits for three days at the most, but never this long. And now I know why. It felt awful. I thought I would be more worried about how it looked -which I was – but at the same time, it didn’t feel too hot either.
I guess I can go ahead and disparage the myth that having hair on your body makes you sweat and stink more because that wasn’t the case with me. In fact, I will support the other belief that states hair catches sweat and conceals it. The hair under my arms definitely saved me from a lot of pit-stained residue on my shirts, but even in their absence the feeling of having armpit hair was simply uncomfortable at times. I could feel the hair rubbing against my cotton shirts. I could feel the sweat seep into the corners of my arms and the deodorant applied that morning form tiny balls. Even on my legs, the hair agitated my skin under tights and jeans, so much to the point that I kept tugging at my tights to relieve the tension.
And in terms of look, I didn’t really let too many people see what I was working with. I know the whole point was to let my hair have its moment in the spotlight, but I simply couldn’t. I wore long or sort sleeves that wouldn’t lift when I raised my arms for the entire month. The hair wasn’t flattering. I had shaved so much that the hair grew back in awkward patches, thickening in some areas. I felt like it made me look dirty and careless. This experiment, aside from its heroic stand for the cure on cancer, was supposed to bring empowerment and justice against men and society that states women should look and behave a certain way, but I left feeling insecure and “ugly.” And I say ugly not in a shameful way, but in regards to my own standards of how I would like to look.
You don’t need any more paragraphs on how my body hair took on a life of it’s own, but let’s just say when December 1 rolled in, I was more than ecstatic to shave it all off. No Shave November, or no shave any month is not for me. Nothing about it felt right. The whole time I was just waiting for it to be over. Calm down, to those thinking it; I’m not brainwashed by society and that’s not why I feel the way I do. Sometimes I think we get coerced into this idea that society, a patriarchal society at that, is controlling what we do, say, and how we act. And at times that may be the case, but not shaving is a choice, and for some it’s a choice that brings fire to their feminist movement and strength to their own journey. For others, it may just be something as stupid as laziness or second nature. For me, it’s none of the above. I’ll keep my shaving kit, thank you very much, and focus my road to empowerment elsewhere.
Check out some more pictures from my Chubaka-inspired shoot below.