“Are you trying to make a statement?”
“It’s so black”
“How long are you going to leave it?”
“Why?”
“What is that?”
“But you’re pretty”
“Is it an experiment?”
“Cool”
“Let it grow to all its glory!”
“Are you a feminist?”
“Yuck”
“You’re becoming so French these days”

The responses to me growing my underarm hair have been surprisingly varied. What’s really surprising though is that so many people notice, and think it worth commenting on.

It’s hair that grows under the arms. I don’t know why, I remember asking why in sex-ed and getting an answer that was completely unrelated. But over the last century it has become required of women in many Western cultures to remove it. This advertisement appeared in Harper’s Bazaar in 1915, when sleeveless dresses were coming into vogue. Ideals of femininity were strongly rooted in Classical Greek and Roman depictions of goddesses, who had been hairless. Like little girls.

A new field of female vulnerability was opened up for marketers to exploit, and the safety razor was invented shortly after - today a massive global industry. At the moment I’m kind of over the endless battle with the hair of the underarm and our lingering vestige of Victorian prudery.

Apparently John Ruskin, the famous author/artist/critic, had been accustomed only to the hairless female nudes portrayed in art. Never having seen a naked woman before his wedding night, he was so appalled by the discovery of his wife's muff that he legally annulled the marriage, calling her freakish and deformed. Some say a likelier explanation of his rejection was that she was menstruating. Either way the guy was pretty out of touch, and it may not be entirely his fault. I think it’s outdated to still have such limited and stylised representations of the human form as we do in the media and arts. So let the fuzz grow. Or not. Whatever works for you really.