There are plenty reasons why I don’t want to shave my legs. One of them has to do with the fact that I remember, when I was 14, that my school friends made fun of one of my teachers (whom I really liked) and took it to heart when they pointed out she was gross for having hair on her legs and hair under her armpits. I refuse to shave for that 14-year-old girl who was shamed into shaving and accidentally cutting herself more than she can count and has endless of tiny scars because of that shame.

Another reason I refuse to shave is that it’s sometimes just straight up annoying and if I don’t want to do it, anyone else can stick it to wherever they want to.

One big reason why I don’t shave is because back after World War I, marketing agencies for razors needed a new audience and introduced leg shaving to females; it would make them more feminine and having unshaven legs is ugly and doesn’t seem appropriate for a “real lady”.

I wanted to be that badass feminist who goes out with unshaven legs and doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion on her body. No one has the right to dictate to anyone how they should dress. It is especially absurd because we are talking dead cells growing out of our skin. That concept seems so ridiculous to me that we shame women into shaving because they are gross for leg hair, but look next to Jon Doe and his hairy chest and fluffy hair leg warmer.

So I did that. I didn’t shave for months and it was amazing. I didn’t have to think about what other people thought about my leg hair because if they would comment on it, they were just rude douche-canoes.

Seriously. If anyone comes up to you and points out something they deem unpleasant, you are not the problem; they are. Their opinion doesn’t matter. They are rude and hurtful and no one should ever give a person like that attention.

I wanted to grow my hair out so I can protest this pressure on me to always have my legs shaved. I did it all winter long and when it was time to slip into the short pants, I experienced horror.

My house has a front porch where I like to occasionally relax, read a book, or think. While I was sitting in a chair, minding my own business, I felt insects all over my leg. I freaked out and looked down to my leg. There was nothing. The air blew on my leg hair and made it feel like there are insects. This discovery changed everything for me.

Just sitting an hour outside with the wind blowing up around me, fake and "unfake" insects attacking, I was an absolute mess who flinched at every little gust. My relationships with insects is, at best, complicated. I have had too many close encounters with insects in my shower and bubble bath time while I was young – very traumatizing, I can assure you.

With that in mind, I made the heavy decision to shave my legs.

Sigh.

The fact that I am shaving my legs doesn't mean I am a bad feminist. No. It means because I decide to do what I want to do (Without harming anyone), I am empowered in my decision. Feminism has taught me that it's sometimes okay to do exactly what is expected of you IF that is what you wanted initially.