One of the first things I told my girl friend when I decided I was going to spend a year trying to fall in love with myself was 'oh man... I don't have to shave my legs anymore!'. We clinked margarita glasses and drank to the health of my long-oppressed leg hair.
I can't deny the glorious feeling of slipping into your freshly washed sheets with newly shorn stems, but my recent liberation from the shackles of the leg razor got me thinking; other than the sinfully guilty pleasure of feeling your silky legs against your favorite dress, what's the big deal with pruned pins?
We've all heard the stories about how the trend got started. There was an ad in Harper's Bazaar in 1915 featuring the new sleeveless dress! It was a revolutionary, fashion breakthrough that not only brought women freedom from their neck to ankle coverage, but revealed the dreaded armpit! And lo, it was hairy. The legs followed a few years later when pinups and shorter hems fell in line behind sheer and sleeveless dresses. What I gather from any research I've done is that it's a fad. A very long standing, profitable fad that razor companies have been banking on for decades.
Don't get me wrong! I'm not arguing that strong women everywhere should toss out their razors the same way our foremothers burnt their bras. I love that it can be a sign of femininity (or being on the swim team). I'm questioning the apparent necessity for women, in or out of a relationship, to shave their legs. I still shave my legs, but it's only when I want to. Why didn't I subscribe to this theory sooner? I have so much more time for activities now that I'm not slowly dragging sharp objects over my skin every other day!
There's a question on OKCupid (don't lie, you've at least checked it out...) that states "Do women have an obligation to shave their legs?" and the amount of 'yes' answers submitted by men is nothing less than staggering. I'm sorry sir, but I am not obligated to do anything to my body for you or anyone else. I've even seen some women who agree that they have an obligation, not the option, to keep their legs clear of stubble. And not because it feels nice for them, but because it's 'gross', 'not sexy', 'prickly'.
I'm in a unique position where I don't care that I'm not sexy to anyone else but myself. My trips to the gym have even waned a little, because I realized I wasn't training for a sport of any kind. I was training to train. Well if I'm the only one I'm trying to impress right now, I would be really dazzled by that new brownie recipe and a Netflix marathon.
The same goes for my legs. I'm the only one caressing them at night, and bully for me, I'm just not that particular about the length of the hair that grows on them. The best part about this distinct issue, I'll be able to carry my new outlook into a relationship in the future. That's just one more thing I wont be over the top self-conscious about. Because I've walked through the Leg-Hair Fire, and I have emerged victorious!
