Sex, friends and strangers: what to expect when you stop shaving

Contrary to what you've been told, the world doesn't end when a woman stops shaving.

In 2013, deciding to keep your body hair feels like a small revolution, a political rebellion: it sends a message, and is the equivalent of walking around with a placard saying “I’m a scary feminist, and almost certainly left-wing”. Not that I mind: I personally am both of these things, but had been told from the beginning of puberty that I had to remove everything apart from a vague triangle between my thighs, or face never getting laid and never having friends. In fact, it took me several months to get my head round the idea of throwing away my razor for a few weeks, and see where it'd get me. I am, however, very happy I did, and lived to tell the tale. If you're ever considering to stop shaving (and you should), here's what to expect:

I guess the most telling incident I had was, when walking around an estate in East London, a man walking behind me shouted that I had nice legs, “love”. I ignored him, as one does, but he felt the need to add “you should probably shave them though”. I instantly got angry, but as I was about to turn around and respond something not publishable here, he concluded “Yeah, actually I don’t mind”. I was so gobsmacked by his honesty (and his obvious tendency to just think out loud) that I simply walked off without saying anything. And if you ever stop shaving, this is exactly the sort of reaction you’ll come to expect from random people: surprise, possibly disgust, then realisation that it really is nothing. Heartening.

Sadly, friends can be a bit harder to deal with: I’ve heard absolutely everything on my apparently terrifying armpits – from feminist fistbumps to outright “I don’t want to be seen in public with you” – but the funniest probably is the hypocritical enthusiasm. It’s an easy one to notice: just take your jumper off, and the person will start with a shocked “Oh!”, feel guilty about said exclamation, and proceed to spend about fifteen minutes telling you “Yes! No ! Really! It’s great! I wish I could do that! In fact, YOU’RE great!”, when the only thing in their minds clearly is “ew”. You might also get an “ironic” razor for your birthday, or get asked “jokingly” if you’re really going swimming like that. You’ll want to tell them that it’s fine, they can be honest and stop pretending and that you’re not going to cry if you don’t feel validated by every single person you know, but chances are you’ll just smile politely and move on.

Now we’ve covered most social situations, let’s get down to more serious business: sex. The first time I got into bed with someone after ditching the wax, I panicked. I clearly remember thinking “Jesus, I’m going to take off my tights, he’s going to scream, jump off the bed, call his mum and start crying”. Except, well, he didn’t: in fact, I’m not even sure he noticed – and if he did, he didn’t mention it. Nor did any of the lovers that followed. When I quizzed a male friend on the subject, he told me that he was normally too happy to have someone getting naked in his bed that he sincerely could not care less whether she had some hair on her body or not. These wise words were echoed by nearly all the men I asked, which, when thinking about it, hardly is that surprising. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never brought someone back to mine, only to scream in surprise and run away because their chest was a lot hairier than I was expecting it to be. In fact, the conversation I seem to be having practically every time with women is whether men get terrified to go down on you. Newsflash: it doesn’t even really change anything – I’ve slept with women before, you can take my word for it. And pardon me for being crude, but if someone is disgusted by the idea of getting down on a woman who doesn’t wax, he probably doesn’t lick the right bits – all in all, it merely is a matter of personal taste (ha, ha).

On a more serious note, my point here is that throwing away your razor really isn’t, or at least shouldn’t be a big deal. Standing naked in front of a mirror and lifting my arms up felt weird at first: I felt a lot less attractive, and nearly ashamed of my body. Then I got used to it, and started wishing that other women would do the same.

In fact, I'd just like it if it could just become something a bit more normal. Just like wearing heels, dresses, or make up, shaving should become more of a personal choice again: something you do because you feel like it, not because the thought of having three hair on the side of your bikini would fill you with shame or uneasiness. Though sadly, I should probably warn you beforehand: your legs will not feel any warmer during the winter.

 

[Photo: Hulton Archive/Getty Images]

Marie le Conte is a freelance journalist.

Photo: Getty
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Theresa May's U-Turn may have just traded one problem for another

The problems of the policy have been moved, not eradicated. 

That didn’t take long. Theresa May has U-Turned on her plan to make people personally liable for the costs of social care until they have just £100,000 worth of assets, including property, left.

As the average home is valued at £317,000, in practice, that meant that most property owners would have to remortgage their house in order to pay for the cost of their social care. That upwards of 75 per cent of baby boomers – the largest group in the UK, both in terms of raw numbers and their higher tendency to vote – own their homes made the proposal politically toxic.

(The political pain is more acute when you remember that, on the whole, the properties owned by the elderly are worth more than those owned by the young. Why? Because most first-time buyers purchase small flats and most retirees are in large family homes.)

The proposal would have meant that while people who in old age fall foul of long-term degenerative illnesses like Alzheimers would in practice face an inheritance tax threshold of £100,000, people who die suddenly would face one of £1m, ten times higher than that paid by those requiring longer-term care. Small wonder the proposal was swiftly dubbed a “dementia tax”.

The Conservatives are now proposing “an absolute limit on the amount people have to pay for their care costs”. The actual amount is TBD, and will be the subject of a consultation should the Tories win the election. May went further, laying out the following guarantees:

“We are proposing the right funding model for social care.  We will make sure nobody has to sell their family home to pay for care.  We will make sure there’s an absolute limit on what people need to pay. And you will never have to go below £100,000 of your savings, so you will always have something to pass on to your family.”

There are a couple of problems here. The proposed policy already had a cap of sorts –on the amount you were allowed to have left over from meeting your own care costs, ie, under £100,000. Although the system – effectively an inheritance tax by lottery – displeased practically everyone and spooked elderly voters, it was at least progressive, in that the lottery was paid by people with assets above £100,000.

Under the new proposal, the lottery remains in place – if you die quickly or don’t require expensive social care, you get to keep all your assets, large or small – but the losers are the poorest pensioners. (Put simply, if there is a cap on costs at £25,000, then people with assets below that in value will see them swallowed up, but people with assets above that value will have them protected.)  That is compounded still further if home-owners are allowed to retain their homes.

So it’s still a dementia tax – it’s just a regressive dementia tax.

It also means that the Conservatives have traded going into the election’s final weeks facing accusations that they will force people to sell their own homes for going into the election facing questions over what a “reasonable” cap on care costs is, and you don’t have to be very imaginative to see how that could cause them trouble.

They’ve U-Turned alright, but they may simply have swerved away from one collision into another.  

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.

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