"It looks like a smurf has taken a nap in your armpit." My sister says, as I ask her opinion on my newest form of self-expression. This is important. She's paused 'The Office' (The U.S version, obvs) to answer me.
"At least I haven't dyed my pubes, then you'd have to think about THAT."
She recoils at the thought. "If you dyed your pubes, I'd rather you not ask my opinion, thanks."
It's true, my sister and I have the kind of relationship where we're close enough to discuss lady hair, but not actually partake in mutual viewing. I think I'm okay with that. The thought of showing the person I used to share baths with and once, actually did a poo in the bath the first, and consequently last time we did so, whilst I was still a boobless, and pubeless little chicklet, makes me feel like the boundaries of sisterhood have been crossed. No, I'd show a close friend my technicolour pubes if they asked, just for the 'lolz', but only if we agreed to talked about the occasion in a "Roseby's so crazy and spontaneous" way, instead of "Remember when you attacked my eyes with your alien coloured frou-frou let's never relive that please thank you" kind of way.
I decide in this moment that armpits are for sisters, and pubes are for friends.
"At least I haven't dyed my pubes, then you'd have to think about THAT."
She recoils at the thought. "If you dyed your pubes, I'd rather you not ask my opinion, thanks."
It's true, my sister and I have the kind of relationship where we're close enough to discuss lady hair, but not actually partake in mutual viewing. I think I'm okay with that. The thought of showing the person I used to share baths with and once, actually did a poo in the bath the first, and consequently last time we did so, whilst I was still a boobless, and pubeless little chicklet, makes me feel like the boundaries of sisterhood have been crossed. No, I'd show a close friend my technicolour pubes if they asked, just for the 'lolz', but only if we agreed to talked about the occasion in a "Roseby's so crazy and spontaneous" way, instead of "Remember when you attacked my eyes with your alien coloured frou-frou let's never relive that please thank you" kind of way.
I decide in this moment that armpits are for sisters, and pubes are for friends.
![Picture](/uploads/3/7/1/4/37148677/570662735.jpg?201)
Anyway, there are multiple reasons why I have decided to make this creative endeavor.
1. Media protests against 'bald is best'.
I didn't grow my hair out just to die it blue. In fact, I haven't shaved for nearly a year, mainly because the rash that razors gave me made my armpits look like plucked chickens WITH chicken pox... and laziness. For ages I felt really self conscious about my arms, keeping them stuck to my sides when in the girl's changing room like airing out my pits would be like unleashing some evil hairy demon that would drag its victims into the deep dark depths of my woman forest until they learn the ways of basket weaving with curly strands of hair and feeding off the creatures that dwell in long grass. p.s That sounded like I have pit lice. I don't.
I hid my underarms in long sleeves, even when the august heat made everything sweaty and all I wanted to do was tear my shirt off, until a friend told me about this photographer (Ben Hopper for the Huffington Post) who took pictures of normal women that sported the natural look. I look up the pictures, and instantly identified with the feeling of rebellion; against sexist double standards and the idea that one size of beauty fits all. I stopped viewing myself as some misfit and instead someone who just danced to a different song. I have hair on my head, why can't I have it anywhere else?
1. Media protests against 'bald is best'.
I didn't grow my hair out just to die it blue. In fact, I haven't shaved for nearly a year, mainly because the rash that razors gave me made my armpits look like plucked chickens WITH chicken pox... and laziness. For ages I felt really self conscious about my arms, keeping them stuck to my sides when in the girl's changing room like airing out my pits would be like unleashing some evil hairy demon that would drag its victims into the deep dark depths of my woman forest until they learn the ways of basket weaving with curly strands of hair and feeding off the creatures that dwell in long grass. p.s That sounded like I have pit lice. I don't.
I hid my underarms in long sleeves, even when the august heat made everything sweaty and all I wanted to do was tear my shirt off, until a friend told me about this photographer (Ben Hopper for the Huffington Post) who took pictures of normal women that sported the natural look. I look up the pictures, and instantly identified with the feeling of rebellion; against sexist double standards and the idea that one size of beauty fits all. I stopped viewing myself as some misfit and instead someone who just danced to a different song. I have hair on my head, why can't I have it anywhere else?
The women in these pictures looked strong, kick ass and happy. They were making decisions about their body for their own purpose, not to conform to a stereotype. It was then that I realized the power of imagery. If I am shown something regarded as beautiful, I am more likely to accept it as beautiful too.
![Picture](/uploads/3/7/1/4/37148677/566685329.jpg?242)
2. The new 'rainbow pit' craze.
Numerous bloggers, instagram celebrities and tumblr girls have started dyeing their arm pits multiple colours. I'm not usually one to follow fads, but I decided to hop on this bandwagon because it celebrates individuality (see point one plez) and attention is being brought to the fact that women shouldn't have to shave just because it's a beauty ideal ingrained in our heads. We have better things to do! Like write a blog! Or watch an entire season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (that show is my absolute shit)!
I think that being a gal and having arm pit hair is still a taboo, but having it in a funky colour is kind of an ice breaker. I can say to any acquaintance in a "Roseby's so crazy and spontaneous" way (see intro plz), "Hey dude, wanna see my blue pits? (Your answer is invalid, I shall show you anyway to get my feminist and spunky voice heard - please know resistance is futile.)" at least I think I can, I haven't tried yet, so I'm hoping it'll go well, because having crazy coloured under arm hair is FUNNY, it's EDGY, it says yes, you may look down on my hairy arms and I have made sure to colour them in my favourite shade of highlighter just to SPITE YOU. GOOD DAY.
So, you know, now that my au naturale is anything but, I rejoice with my arms held high that just because I have hair under my armpits- just because my body is doing what it should be, does not mean that I am any less feminine, because since when did lady hair become a man thing?
Being shown the same standard of beauty has made me terribly narrow-minded, and so people with disabilities, scars, hair, unusual features
or wrinkles aren't seen as conventionally beautiful, and because beauty has such a big currency today, these people are usually overlooked. Beauty shouldn't be defined by what people recognize, it should be found in the vitality present, and the love of life that people possess when they express themselves. There needs to be more beauty variation. Not just in hairiness, but in age, ethnicity and size, so that no-one feels like an outcast, and we are given choices about how we want to represent ourselves, and so that no decision we therefore make is socially 'wrong'.
or wrinkles aren't seen as conventionally beautiful, and because beauty has such a big currency today, these people are usually overlooked. Beauty shouldn't be defined by what people recognize, it should be found in the vitality present, and the love of life that people possess when they express themselves. There needs to be more beauty variation. Not just in hairiness, but in age, ethnicity and size, so that no-one feels like an outcast, and we are given choices about how we want to represent ourselves, and so that no decision we therefore make is socially 'wrong'.