As ladies, we know when we feel most sexy: when we have hairless skin. Commercials tell us that it’s the only way to have confidence; that smooth skin just breathes, I’m touchable, boys.

But a lot of people shave, not just ladies. Guys shave their face when women shave, well, everything else. Feminine people are supposed to feel most sexy when our legs make no sound as they swish against each other; when we raise our arms and see only clumps of deodorant, not a soft patch of hair; when we wear a bikini to show off our red razor bumps, not a few loose strands of the natural hair that rightfully belongs there.

I still shave. I’ve been trained by society to only feel good about myself when I get a new razor to test out. I’ve been molded to feel terrible when the stubble starts to come back. Boys don’t like pubic hair because it’s “dirty”. No one wants to run their hand along a prickly thigh. Forget about hair on your toes; even though everyone gets it, it’ll ruin the look of your new Birkenstock sandals.

But why? Shaving is a waste of time because it always comes back. Sure, you can use harsh chemicals like Nair that’ll burn your skin if you leave it on too long or you can spend hundreds of dollars getting waxed or stripped or lasered. I certainly don’t have the money to get the latter option, and besides, I’m terrified of anyone being near my lady parts (save for the OB-GYN or a boyfriend. I’m certainly not going to ask either of them to do it). For the former, you couldn’t pay me to put chemicals like that near my business. So what do I do?

I shave. Despite my horrendous back problems at the ripe age of twenty, I lean over almost every day to get rid of those alien beasts popping their way out of my skin. Before I go to the beach or the pool or have sex, I carefully navigate the razor’s edge along the ridge of my thigh and the sensitive labia. My armpits are subject to the torture every day. Soap, shaving cream, conditioner, I’ve tried it all. No matter what I do, angry red bumps form.

I smile at the smoothness of my armpits despite the fact that they’re screaming in pain. Instead of innocent hair around my vagina, people can see the marks of irritation peeking out from my swimsuit bottom. And somehow that’s more acceptable than having hair.

Upon going to college, I was surprised to see women who don’t shave. I stood behind a pretty girl in a pretty dress and noticed that she forgot to shave that day. I hate myself for thinking, oh well, hopefully, she’ll remember tomorrow. Then I realized I was in a class with said pretty girl. The next time she wore shorts, her legs were still hairy. She raised her hand in class and I noticed her underarms weren’t bare. She was hairy and confident and wore what she wanted even though society would normally make her wear pants to cover her hairy legs.

And she’s good at what she does. The hair around her vagina didn’t hinder her ability to write great poetry. It didn’t stop her from speaking eloquently and making good points in class. Hell, it didn’t stop her from buying lunch in line or sunbathing in the quad. It didn’t stop her at all. She still had friends, a boyfriend, a life outside of the hair on her body. She smelled good because she bathed, she just didn’t shave. She still had a guy on her arm even though she still had hair on her legs. But she wasn’t amazing or perfect or a superhero for not shaving.

She was normal. Which is how we should all look at it.

I want to get away from the idea that shaving makes someone more attractive. Shave if you want. Nothing beats the feeling of smooth legs on clean, silk sheets. Don’t shave if you want. You shouldn’t have society judging you for the latter.

But I’ll keep shaving. Because even though I’m able to recognize the beauty of not shaving in others, I’m scared to do it myself. I was trained to think razor bumps are more attractive than the alternative. And that’s not okay.