If I can present someone with a visual representation of my pubic hair, I would refer to a fresh relaxer. I couldn't find the appreciation for my pubic hair for a while. My mom brings up the frequency of seeing a freshly shaved cooter, but who are you to pick at my preferences? Contrary to my mother's belief, my pubic hair is ambiguous. It could be smooth like a baby's bottom on Monday, and resemble a monster from Where the Wild Things Are by Friday.
It took a while to appreciate the ambiguity of my pubic hair. I've been naturally hairy since elementary school. The hair that's supposed to protect me was something I shunned since I saw the first strand surfacing on my body. My first bush was a daunting image, and since shaving wasn't approved during my adolescent years, I found ways to cope with my embarrassment.
I was thirteen years old when I decided to put my foot down about shaving. After a reaction I received from a shaving cream in 5th grade, my mother forbade me from even looking at a razor. But, she decided to succumb to my dire need and brought me Andis clippers for the summer in 2008. I was ecstatic about the idea of wearing tank tops and shorts outside, but she had one condition.
"Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT put those clippers down there."
I felt the dire need to shave my vagina. I tried to give an explanation to my mother, but she interrupted to say "Why? Is anyone looking at it?" She made a point and I left my bush alone.
By the time the summer was over, I started a new journey called high school. High school is a time that you learn harsh lessons about grooming. To make matters worse, my high school population was predominately girls who got a bi-weekly wax job. I received my harsh lesson in gym class, where I had to change into my gym clothes with a bunch of other students. The locker room was filled with over 50 girls lounging in Victoria Secret cheeksters until the late bell rang. It took me a while to find a corner to change into my sweats because my bush spilled out of my Hanes high briefs. I thought I was discrete about my hiding spot until someone caught me and started to laugh. I told my mom later that evening, thinking she would understand and approve the pubic shaving. Instead, she laughed and ignored my request. I didn't know a dark-skinned girl could turn red until that day.
Pubic hair seems to be frowned upon in today's society. Unfortunately, I was pressured at a young age to shave my vagina because societal views altered my conscious, even though I was the only person to face my pubes. Nothing is worse than a bunch of teenage girls talking about grooming, and you wouldn't even dare to chime in. Who wants to hear about a bush under the knickers? I decided to rebel against my mother's orders and shaved my pubic hair when I was home alone the following summer. Fifteen minutes later, and I felt fresh and clean. I posed in the mirror and instantly felt like a real teenager, ready to take on any two-piece bathing suit.
I knew I needed to hide my freshly trimmed vagina from my mom, but I wasn't bothered by her future punishment. At the moment, I made a personal choice for my body. If I understood the meaning of feminism at 14, my first shave would've been a milestone. Some women feel empowered and sexy by growing their bush, rebelling against societal standards. What about women like me who feel the same by doing the opposite?
When I shaved for the first time on that hot summer day in 2009, I realized it wasn't about my harmless bush. I just wanted to make a choice for my own body, something policed by my mother. I knew her issue wasn't with shaving thinking that I was grown. She just wanted me to embrace every aspect and natural part of my body before I make a decision to alter it because a TV commercial told me so.
My pubes was a huge symbol of femininity. It taught me personal choices as a teenager and comfort as an adult. My brillo pad shouldn't be faced as a burden, but a stage of contentment.
Most importantly, I learned a big lesson about pubes with sexual relations. Women tend to prepare themselves for sexual activities (i.e. grooming their body hair) through a ritual that takes approximately an hour. We tend to become self-conscious about our partner looking at our tuffs of hair peeking out of our lace underwear. I want to relay a message from an old friend of mine that's aware of the ritual. If you think he/she is worried about the two-day-old light caesar, they're not.
Besides, constant shaving can increase your risk of infections. Embrace your choices, regardless.
