Over the past couple of years, I have to say I have grown the hell up. I don’t know when I reached the point of, yup, this is me; but it has occurred. My ideas have congealed and become fairly set as far as my sense of self, my sense of style, my place within my subculture, and my political and social feelings. I tend to not really talk about the last two.
Everyone knows the gnarly trap you wander into when talking politics. My office mates take delight in purposefully saying either completely nasty things to me or attempting to instigate me into arguments. I have had a person request that I be made to work on election day, just so I don’t help “fuck up the country further”. That last bit was said after I rather non-noncommittally refused to rise to a “who you gonna vote for? Someone horrible?” question. So, I REALLY have no desire to talk about my government.
My social feelings are rather more difficult to tamp down. I have a hell of a lot to say about how women are treated and viewed in society. I have a lot of volatile feelings about what people say unthinkingly about women’s bodies, brains, habits, how they raise their children, live their lives, and lots of other things. Here, I put my money where my mouth is, rather than just my money where my brain is (like with politics, since my mouth does not really open over that so the saying does not work so well. I probably did not need to explain that. Did it anyway. OK, I need to stop now.).
I have a very complicated friend who has a few issues of his own. He also does not see even REMOTELY eye to eye with me on most things, which is why we stopped dating. But we are still friends, just sometimes not very good ones. Because he opens his mouth before thinking to the woman who sometimes forgets to take her medication on time. This is a recurring problem in our relationship. And I know your reading this so try to remember that more often then you do and I will give you back those pieces of your face, Dear.
Mentioning him is a nice way to start talking about the HAIRY issues I want to get off my chest. Figuratively. I have yet to find chest hairs I need to worry about. Or at all. I think. I really don’t look. If Sacco has noticed any, he has not said anything. Although he does not tend to make a deal about any of my other hair, so he is perhaps not the best source. (WARNING, personal preference and habits ahead.)
I have always been exceedingly blase about my various hairy bits. The hair on my head gets the most attention simply because I am a curly girl, so I cannot just brush and run like you straight haired ladies. Otherwise, I am not sure how much time I would spend worrying about that either. Everything about my hair has been based on what I feel like at the time. Sometimes I shave all my bits, sometimes I treat my pussy like a topiary garden (this has stopped as Sacco NEVER NOTICES. I could say coyly after he has spent plenty of time in the area “So, what did you think of the lightning bolt?” and he would be all “the weather LOOKS fine, when was their lightning?” so FUCK the topiary garden and the hour it took to MAKE THAT LIGHTNING BOLT ASSHOLE. Ahem), and sometimes I don’t shave my pits. Sacco likes to say “Ah, we are Amanda Palmering this month!” He says this as an observation with no judgement as we both fucking LOVE Amanda Palmer and he really does not give a rat’s ass about what I am currently doing with my body (unless I am in a deep dark hole and see showering as optional. Then he will creep into the bedroom, rub my back for a bit, and whisper lovingly that a shower may make me feel better. We both knows this is code for “you sort of smell” but he won’t say that out loud. Possibly because I have a tendency to be violent when depressed to that point. But mostly ’cause he is sweet like that.).
I recently funded Pitstache on Kickstarter, a documentary and posted it on my Facebook (hey, look I found the subject!!). I think it will be an interesting doco and who does not want to see a history of the hair of your pits and how society is shaping what we, as women, see as pretty and “acceptable” in society? Let us face facts, what society (and not just The Man. The Woman is involved as well.) wants us to believe is that natural is not pretty. Natural is unnatural. Natural is to be looked down on and either nipped, tucked, fixed, starved, and removed in any way possible.
(Don’t get it twisted. Faux is good too. I wear make-up most days and some friends have LOVELY after market tits (I hate the phrase “fake tits”. They are THERE and present. Front and fucking center as it were. Not fake, just not originally the owners property. Now it is. It is like putting a new stereo in a car. You are upgraded.) and that is fucking awesome. But, it is only awesome because we are doing it for ourselves. My make up looks like Divine and Dr. Franken-Furter are my best buddies and let me borrow their shit. I tone it down slightly for the office, but you will NEVER find my look in a magazine. My girl friends got their upgrades for some different reasons. One just fucking wanted it and decided to do it on a whim. She had the dough and made the appointment and suddenly she was rivaling my D’s and randomly inviting people to poke them (I have awesome friends). The other had a medical issue and got them to fix it.)
I expected some people to comment on the posting, but the only comment I received was “Because it’s nasty.”. HUH? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? Nasty? It is HAIR. We are not stapling slugs to our pits. Most of us cleanse ourselves in some form or another daily (unless depressed), so there is no real concern for BO. If we sweat a lot, we tend to use and antiperspirant. I was confused and asked for clarification, which I received a response of how individual-who-was-rapidly-pissing-me-off liked his women feminine and how that is not feminine in the least. To which I reminded him that he had dated ME and did not get a chance to enjoy the full extent of my random hair moods. Hell, I know for a FACT I was fully fuzzed for a portion of the dating life. Maybe the lights were too dim or my breasts too distracting.
After we semi-mollified ourselves with one of our at work back and forth e-mail pissing matches (we have one about every two months. I said we were complicated friends), I got the germ of this post in my mind. Feminine to me has always been pretty shoes, stockings, soft curves, and make up. But, when I look at other women, I see what is feminine to them. My office mate is feminine in her hot Annie Hall sort of fashion. My other office mate is more of your “magazine” feminine in that every time some fad is suggested she does it. The girl who works in the office down stairs is feminine in “this is what my sorority said to do!” (she talks with a permanent up note, and always sounds like an over excited chipmunk). I polled them and a couple other people for feminine and, quite honestly, found myself alone in most of my ideas. I was deemed mostly feminine in a scary way. Main things feminine: wigs, stockings, heels, makeup, THIN, and, damnably, hairless. Which is why I am only mostly feminine, but in a very good way the hastened to tell me. I was just more “European” because of how I was raised. (My mother finds this HYSTERICAL by the way and, as far as I know, shaves.) Not a single one of them mentioned anything NATURAL. I was a Sad Panda. Mostly because I don’t like to think that my friend is ever in the majority about anything. Even though I know he is. He is my political and social barometric device for what the moral majority thinks. When I poll him on things, he does generally make me Sad Panda out.
I like natural. I think others should too. Are you naturally extra curvy? Or do you just have a passionate affair with curly fries? I still think your feminine. Hell, Beth Ditto is SMOKIN’ hot and the only thing everyone tends to say is “But, she is SO FAT. And nasty! She takes her clothes off and dances on stage JIGGLING!” Have you seen what all is jiggling? She is feminine as fuck, yo.
Amanda Palmer, currently the most famous owner of furry armpits, is also exceedingly feminine. She is just what she is. She shaves her eyebrows to draw on her own fantastic designs. She dresses like I would like too, but know I cannot pull off. She has a bit of a tummy she accepts and loves. She has amazing muscles. She owns pit-staches. I find her completely delicious as well.
I have found through my journey that it is the natural in the woman I love. I love the curves, no matter how big or how small. I love the differences in all our bodies. I like hair on women AND men. I like people who make up their own minds.
Body hair is not nasty. Fat is not nasty. It just IS. It exists because we are animals. Stop using “Nasty” to describe yourself or other people’s bodies. Use it to describe their minds. Or their taste for necrophilia. Not the nature of our human beast.
Shave, wax, pluck, or don’t. Upgrade your bits or don’t. DON’T diet. Eat nice things and exercise to be the best YOU you can be, not to be that other person others say you should. Define YOUR feminine. Define YOUR masculine. Sacco can pirouette AND built me a bitchin’ coffin for my clothing. I wear fishnets, make up, and generally have hairy bits.
Don’t let people define you. YOU do the work.
Don’t misuse the word “Nasty”. It pisses me off.