I am Asian, so my hair is pretty dark. But Asians aren’t really known for being hairy; my parents are practically hairless, and same story for my grandparents. Yet, I was born with a ton of hair.
Growing up, I always felt like I wasn’t a “real girl” because of how hairy I was. All my friends in school were either completely hairless or it was barely visible. Me, on the other hand? I have wispy but dark hair all over my legs, forearms, hands and feet (including my fingers and toes), and my stomach. It was always an extremely uncomfortable conversation whenever someone would ask me why I am so hairy. It’s not my fault, but it definitely felt like it.
I was most insecure about the hair on my hands. To this day, I’ve never met another girl with hairy finger joints. And I mean all the joints. The only place on my hands that don’t have hair are the joints that your nails are on, and the second joint of my index fingers. Whenever I would be minding my business at school, someone was bound to ask me about my hand hair or suddenly go, “Woah! You have hair on your hands!” Like, lol thanks, I hadn’t noticed the last eighteen years of my life. It felt like I couldn’t write in peace. In my past relationships, I would hate it whenever my partner would hold my hand and start staring at it out of nowhere. And most annoying of all, the hair on my fingers would always get caught in the most random things: mechanical pencil clips, screws in my chair, the tiny pinchy space between desks, et cetera, et cetera.
I’m not sure when I started shaving, but I’m pretty sure it was 7th grade. I didn’t care so much about my legs because I wore long pants most of the time, but I would shave my hands every couple of days just to feel normal. Eventually that turned into shaving my arms because it looked too weird to have hairy arms and hairless hands. Then I started shaving my legs and I’m pretty sure I even tried to shave the hair on my stomach for some reason.
As a 12 or 13-year-old kid, I obviously wasn’t the best at shaving. I spent a lot of time with Band-Aids all over me from tiny nicks and cuts. My mom taught me how to pluck, and I did that for a while, but the pain was a bit much for me. Then we tried waxing, which was a whole lot more painful, but at least it only lasted a few seconds. Eventually, I made my way back to shaving in high school.
Kids are brutal enough in elementary and middle school, but high school was a whole new world. No one made fun of me, but I somehow felt worse about my body hair. All the popular girls at school wore cute outfits that showed off their great figure while I would cover myself up in some skinny jeans and a sweater to hide my body hair. I had no problem with my body shape, but I refrained from wearing shorts because all the tiny scars on my legs didn’t make me feel pretty enough. I never wore dresses because it exposes my arms too, not just my legs. I walked around with my hands in my pockets most of the time because I felt so self-conscious about my hand hair. On Instagram, I would see all my friends post photos of their new manicures or jewelry and I was jealous. I didn’t wear rings because I don’t want to attract attention to my hands, and I didn’t wear bracelets for the same reason. And there’s no point wearing necklaces if a sweater’s going to cover it anyway, so I never really got to wear jewelry.
It was this huge cycle of feeling bad because everyone around me was so hairless and trendy, and me feeling bad because I can’t be trendy because of my obscene amount of body hair. In my senior year, I just kind of got tired of it all. I was tired of feeling left out of trends and being that one background character that sulks in their baggy hoodie. I started going out of my comfort zone and wearing cute fits, ditching my daily sweater (scandalous, I know). I stopped shaving everything except my legs because I’m still not the best at shaving and getting nicked isn’t fun at all. Plus, it was just too time consuming. Although I was still super self-conscious about my body hair, I started realizing that no one really cares. No one ever said anything to me, I was the only one that cared this entire time. With that silence, my indifference towards body hair grew and here I am today: I haven’t shaved my arms, hands, or feet for a whole 2 years.
I still have no idea where this hairy gene came from, but I’ve learned to accept it. I wouldn’t exactly say I love it yet, but I find comfort in how I can just be my hairy self without anyone bothering me. Just remember that no one really cares if you’re hairy, and if they do, pay them no mind because it’s none of their business anyway.