Female Hairlessness: Tweezing out Typicality

Last summer, as I was sitting on the cottage dock scrolling through my Instagram feed, a photo of an old high school friend caught my eye. Captioned “being me, being free,” she was with her sister on a beach excitedly jumping up in the air – arms outstretched and smiles wide, animated by the bright sun and August air. As I prepared to double tap, I noticed the last comment that read, “that’s disgusting.” Confused, I scrolled up to find comments ranging from “good for you Hannah” to “yikes.” When I saw the light brown patch of hair underneath her underarms, it became clear that the overtly hostile comments were fuelled by Hannah’s disinclination to shave and follow the social norm of female hair removal.

Of course, I was not surprised by these negative reactions. It is the same backlash met by actress Mo’Nique’s unshaven legs at the Precious Premier in 2009, Miley Cyrus’ proudly pink-dyed underarm hair on Instagram in 2015, and any other woman who has tried to go against the western cultural inevitability of spending the money, sacrificing the time, and enduring the pain of removing their body hair. These widespread responses of revulsion and disapproval to a woman’s natural body in our society raises important questions regarding the negative impact that our socially constructed ideals of femininity, sexuality, and beauty have on our contemporary society, and the latent sexism that persists.

These issues first become apparent when considering what motivates women to remove their body hair. Tiggemann & Hodgson (2008) found that enhanced feelings of sexual attractiveness, increased femininity and social acceptance, and maintenance of self-esteem were the most common factors. These findings are particularly disturbing; not only do they suggest that women feel their natural female state is not acceptable or desirable, but that ideals of femininity and sexual appeal in our culture are not for a woman at all – but for a young girl. After all, it is hair (including pubic, leg, and underarm hair) that denotes sexual maturity; a lack of it is characteristic of children. The sexualisation of this pre-pubescent body can only worsen the objectification of young girls. There is even a subreddit dedicated to Taylor Swift’s “smooth” and “baby soft” hairless underarms, with male commenters wanting to “lick them.” [1]

Men, on the other hand, are perceived as more attractive, sexy, and masculine the more body and facial hair they have (Fahs, 2011). This gender double standard in the presence of hair can then be interpreted as contemporary perceptions of “womanly” meaning “childlike,” and “manly” meaning “adult-like.” This is not to say that men are attracted to children, but rather it is meant to unearth the power imbalances embedded - and sometimes otherwise unnoticed, in the female hair removal norm. This is further illustrated in Basow’s (1998) research that showed both men and women perceived a woman to be less intelligent and took them less seriously than the same woman without body hair.

Many women simply feel “mentally unclean” and “less put together” when they don’t shave (Fahs, 2011, p. 493). My friends say they feel “too dirty” after a certain point of letting their hair grow – not necessarily that they feel less attractive or worse about themselves. Though this seems more benign, it makes me wonder why women hold themselves to a higher standard of “cleanliness” than men. After all, men don’t report having these sentiments; to them, there is nothing more dirty or unclean about body hair than the hair on their heads – and rightfully so. Hair has important biological functions such as protection of skin, regulating body temperature, promoting evaporation of sweat, and pheromone communication. Additionally, according to Dr. Emily Gibson - a professor at Western Washington University, shaving of pubic hair can promote STI transmission through irritated skin and inflamed follicles (Laurence, 2012). This further leads me to believe that the female hairless beauty standard is so entrenched in western culture that it is thoroughly internalized, to the point that it influences false perceptions of basic hygiene, while fuelling a gender double standard.

I am happy to note though that it’s not all doom and gloom. Events in the media are showing that women have been starting to catch on to the gender asymmetries and negative consequences associated with the hairless female beauty norm, sparking a body hair acceptance movement. These include the trending #pithairdontcare hashtag on Instagram, Gigi Hadid’s December 2017 Love Magazine advent calendar promotion for the Tommy X Gigi collection featuring her underarm hair, and photographer Ben Hopper’s photo series Natural Beauty in 2014, where he depicts women in their natural state to deconstruct the negative connotation associated with body hair. These instances mark an important shift occurring in our culture toward body acceptance rather than body modification. In a society where young girls and boys are growing up with images of photoshopped celebrities and hairless porn stars, it is important to present people who go against these conventions to facilitate a community of inclusiveness instead of potentially harmful expectations.

By presenting these thoughts and critiques, I am not suggesting that every woman grow their leg hair long like Mo’Nique, or dye their armpit hair like Miley. However, I hope women start questioning themselves the next time they grimace at their razor burn or pay $1,000 for electrolysis: who are you doing this for and why? Ultimately, women should be able to do what they want with their bodies, and if a woman, like Hannah, wants to let their hair grow naturally, then we should react to their body with positivity, not disgust. Otherwise, we need to acknowledge the consequences this norm has had on female sexuality and body image, as well as what it illuminates about our societal values, and the gender double standard that lingers.

Darci Brill Bachelor’s of Arts (BAH) Major Psychology Queen's University

References

Basow, S. A. (1991). The Hairless Ideal: Women and Their Body Hair. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 15(1), 83-96. Doi: 10.1111/j.1471-6402.1991.tb00479.x

Fahs, B. (2011). Breaking Body Hair Boundaries: Classroom Exercises for Challenging Social Constructions of the Body and Sexuality. Feminism & Psychology, 22(4), 482-506.        Doi: 10.117/0959353511427293

Laurance, J. (2012, August 5). Physician Calls for an End to Bikini Waxing. Independent. Retrieved March 14, 2018

Tiggemann, M., & Hodgson, S. (2008). The Hairless Norm Extended: Reasons for and Predictors of Women’s Body Hair Removal at Different Body Sites. Sex Roles, 59 (11-12), 889-897. Doi: 10.1007/s11199-008-9494-3

[1] https://www.reddit.com/r/taylorswiftarmpit/?count=51&before=t3_5vhl8d

Discussions of Pleasure: How Ontario’s New SEX EDUCATION Curriculum has Failed to Live Up to the Hype

Tweet In 2017, a 23 year old woman left a date with celebrity comedian and self-described feminist, Aziz Ansari, in tears. In an article by Katie Way for babe.net, and under the pseudonym Grace, she recounts in vivid detail Ansari’s not-quite-illegal but nevertheless non-consensual sexual conduct over the course of the evening. It is a story that is unsettlingly familiar for women in our society; Ansari repeatedly and forcefully asked for sexual activity until Grace felt she had no option other than resign her consent; Ansari continued to engage in activities with an unenthusiastic and visibly distressed partner; and after the fact, Ansari claimed that at the time, he was unaware that his actions were inappropriate (Way, 2018). Ansari clearly disregarded or was unaware of the necessity of willingly given, enthusiastic consent. He also prioritized his own pleasure over a mutually respectful experience and approached sex in a combative manner by attempting to take what he wanted from Grace and impose his expectations for the night on her, regardless of how she felt.

In the midst of movements like Time’s Up and Me Too, for which Ansari himself has been a vocal advocate, there have been two main responses to Grace’s story in mainstream discourse. The first suggests that Grace does not belong to these movements and that she is overreacting or ‘crying wolf’-she gave consent and therefore Ansari should not be penalized as he did not break any laws. The second is that Grace’s consent was incomplete and unwillingly given, therefore Ansari’s actions were a violation and he should be called out or shamed in a manner similar to Harvey Weinstein and Kevin Spacey. I would suggest a third response, that Grace’s story is representative of a systemic injustice that starts with the way we frame discussions of sexuality in our society. Too often, the importance of mutual pleasure and informed, ongoing, enthusiastic consent are overlooked, and experiences like Grace’s dismissed as merely bad sex. However, it is often much more, it is disrespectful sex, and it disproportionately effects women. Rather than impose further guilt on Grace or penalize Ansari, I would argue that we have an obligation to the the next generation to reshape our understanding of sexual experiences and include not only the legal framework of consent, but also expectations of thorough communication and discussions of mutual pleasure. Without these, consent is a weak legal construct with limited benefit to individuals and their lived experiences of sex.

In my opinion, discussions about the importance of mutually pleasurable sex should take place before adolescents are sexually active, in order to establish it as a norm to which every sexually active individual is entitled. They should be included in sexual education classes alongside discussions of consent and healthy relationships. In 2015, the government of Ontario had the opportunity to enact a great deal of change in this area when they released the updated provincial sexual education curriculum. However, the updates fell short and among the gaps that remain in the curriculum is a failure to address pleasure as a priority or reality of sexual activity.

This omission is clearly intentional, and the reasoning for it understandable. Many stakeholders, particularly parents and religious groups, fear that addressing pleasure in the context of sexual activity is an endorsement that will encourage students to have sex. However, these students likely will engage in sexual activity eventually, and by avoiding discussions of pleasure out of fear, we rob students of the tools they need to engage in healthy sexual relationships throughout their lives. They may not have another opportunity to learn these skills as it takes immense courage, as well as a certain level of health and internet literacy and research skills to seek out accurate sexual health information outside of school.

Another reason not to allow parents’ fears to dictate the sexual education curriculum is that Ontario students are already highly exposed to sexuality, through various forms of media, from a young age. However, this exposure is biased in favour of heteronormative and sexist notions of sexuality that are rooted in dominant discourse. These norms perpetuate unrealistic and often unhealthy ideals about sexuality, such as the double standard that exists between women and men regarding masturbation. This double standard has had devastating consequences on women’s feelings and expressions of sexuality, and often results in associating sexual experiences with guilt and shame. These ideals also contribute to the competitive approach to sexual activity that has become normalized in our culture. People like Aziz Ansari have been socialized to believe that in order to have a satisfying sexual experience, they must take from their partner something which they do not want to give, rather than work together to create a mutually pleasurable experience.

Furthermore, adolescents are exposed to sexually explicit material that is contributing to their perception and expectations of sexuality. If sexual education does not adequately address the realties of sex, including pleasure and appropriate behaviour, students may not understand that the lens through which they view sexuality is distorted and will likely develop unattainable expectations of themselves, their partners, and their sexual experiences.

Although the Ontario sexual education curriculum is unlikely to address these concerns in the near future, they are being tackled in other ways. Pornhub, one of the largest websites for sexually explicit content in the world, has recognized that their material contributes to problems which are exacerbated by the inadequate sexual education that most North American youth receive. As such, they have chosen to use their platform to promote healthy, inclusive, sex-positive sexual education through the Pornhub Sexual Wellness Centre, a branch of their main website. Although the site is not perfect, it is challenging to navigate and not as well marketed as had been hoped for, it does approach this issue in a potentially revolutionary way. It was developed by a clinical sexologist and is one of the first websites to provide accurate, inclusive, and easily accessible sexual information internationally, to people who would otherwise not be exposed to it. Though Ontario’s new sexual education curriculum has not lived up to expectations and has failed to address pleasure as a reality of sexuality, exciting alternatives such as the Pornhub sexual wellness centre may engage students with this information in new and exciting ways.

Sophia Christopher, BSc, Queen’s University

References

Pornhub Sexual Wellness Centre. (2018). https://www.pornhub.com/sex/

Ontario Ministry of Education. (2018). Sexual health education by grade. https://www.ontario.ca/page/sex-education-ontario.

Way, K. (2018). I went on a date with Aziz Ansari. It turned into the worst night of my life. Babe.net. Retrieved from https://babe.net/2018/01/13/aziz-ansari-28355