Like Nair, I’ve always been a little freaked out by my hair.

Being Italian, I’m blessed with lots of the stuff. It’s nice on my head, but anywhere else…a little less so. At least according to society.

The first time I realized nobody liked a hairy girl was in 6th grade. I was sitting in class in a t-shirt, trying to deal with early June heat and a new sensation I now know as “bra sweat”.

A kid, who I’m pretty sure was (and probably still is) named David, turned around and stared at me while the teaching wasn’t looking. “Yo, look at your arms!” he said as loudly as only a 12-year-old boy can, “who invited Harry and the Hendersons over?”

Harry and the Hendersons was a show based around Bigfoot.

That stinging comment has (obviously) stayed with me for years, and since then I have shaved everything—at least everything I could reach.

I often wish I could just chuck the razor in the drawer and never deal with balancing precariously in my shower again, but 6th grade David is always around, along with completely hairless movie stars, magazine models, and guys who continually obsess over girls being clean shaven “down there”.

This girl, on the other hand, is no slave to the razor. At least, she hasn’t been for a year. Read More »