My Dear Readers,
How much time per day do you spend on hair removal? Think about it.
There are, of course, the obvious culprits to consider—underarm stubble, leg bristle, rebellious brows. These are usually shaved off or plucked on a semi-regular basis. Whatever hair you choose to expunge from your person, do you remove it a few times a week and call it good? Or are you like me, a masochist swirling in a hairless prison of her own making, never considering not removing the hair but only satisfied with the smoothness that daily removal can bring, yet tortured by the knowledge that with more frequent removal comes faster growth, so that each pass of the razor or jerk of the tweezers brings decreased marginal return until a stronger high is needed. Such is my predicament. I spend thirty minutes every day on hair removal.
Think of how much can happen in thirty minutes. I could finally watch The Mandalorian. I could go for a run, or (far more likely) sleep in. I could take Duolingo lessons. I could do literally ANYTHING ELSE. And I sacrifice it all for vanity.
Shamed by my slavish devotion to the time-consuming art of hair removal (every damn day, mind you), I invested in an epilator. No longer would I be late for social events or forego opportunities for self-improvement because I was shaving! No, henceforth, I would endure some short-lived pain for a new life of smooth punctuality and possibility.
First of all, epilators do not save time. It took perhaps four hours to fully charge my epilator, and then about an hour and a half of "epilating," aka teeth-grinding and pain-induced sweating accompanied by occasional hair removal.
Second of all, epilating taught me the depths of my masochism. I've endured Brazilian waxes before. I thought I had evolved beyond pain. No. Epilators are slow, self-induced torture. Not only will it take you about an hour and half to mow your assorted lawns (if by "mowing" you mean getting on your hands and knees and grabbing handfuls of grass at a time), you get to revel in the knowledge that
My sisyphean gambit had been inspired by watching my boyfriend clock his showers at ten minutes flat. Unencumbered by removing most of his naturally occurring fluff (of which, thankfully, he has more than I), he is able to go about his life. In the average time between the end of his showers and the end of mine, my boyfriend is able to:
So, I got to thinking...if hair removal is so futile, perhaps it is not necessary every day? I tried not to shave every day. I tried! But I've eaten the fruit of knowledge! I've known the feel of smooth legs and can no longer abide stubble on my person. If I skip a day of shaving, I automatically feel like I'm not presenting the best version of myself to the world and the day is off on the wrong, furry foot. I hate that I feel this way. I take cold comfort in lipstick feminism, but nevertheless wonder how time spent on hair removal plays into such things as gender norms and the wage gap. Yes, this is where my head goes.
I know it is not only women who routinely work hair removal into their self-care routine. But more often than not, women are the ones in society suffering from a focus on hair removal. Of course men enter this circus too, but there is more of a societal expectation for women to have hairless legs than for men to have a hairless chest. And many women who do remove their hair regularly, like me, do so for the purely selfish reason that they enjoy the feeling of smooth skin. But with this practice comes great cost. Aside from the high, repeating monetary cost of waxing, threading, or sugaring (which has apparently been around since 1900 BCE, guess I'm the fool), there is an opportunity cost. Maybe it's marginal day to day, but the cost builds. What could you do with all that time?
In a society where such time-saving measures as paying people to do your grocery shopping are no longer far-fetched, I wonder why we have not streamlined beauty routines. At the same time, when I'm not cycling through the standard millennial freak-out about how well paid and yet poor I am—and whether it's not only due to corruption and, like, the patriarchy, but also somehow a function of the time I spend playing whack-a-mole with my follicles—I occasionally take solace in the meditative solitude of shaving. So, that may be my answer for the moment: with that extra time, I could just chill the fuck out, turn off my brain, and enjoy the dopamine hit of completing a mindless task.
But these are the thoughts that make me want to tear my hair out.
How much time per day do you spend on hair removal? Think about it.
There are, of course, the obvious culprits to consider—underarm stubble, leg bristle, rebellious brows. These are usually shaved off or plucked on a semi-regular basis. Whatever hair you choose to expunge from your person, do you remove it a few times a week and call it good? Or are you like me, a masochist swirling in a hairless prison of her own making, never considering not removing the hair but only satisfied with the smoothness that daily removal can bring, yet tortured by the knowledge that with more frequent removal comes faster growth, so that each pass of the razor or jerk of the tweezers brings decreased marginal return until a stronger high is needed. Such is my predicament. I spend thirty minutes every day on hair removal.
Think of how much can happen in thirty minutes. I could finally watch The Mandalorian. I could go for a run, or (far more likely) sleep in. I could take Duolingo lessons. I could do literally ANYTHING ELSE. And I sacrifice it all for vanity.
Shamed by my slavish devotion to the time-consuming art of hair removal (every damn day, mind you), I invested in an epilator. No longer would I be late for social events or forego opportunities for self-improvement because I was shaving! No, henceforth, I would endure some short-lived pain for a new life of smooth punctuality and possibility.
First of all, epilators do not save time. It took perhaps four hours to fully charge my epilator, and then about an hour and a half of "epilating," aka teeth-grinding and pain-induced sweating accompanied by occasional hair removal.
Second of all, epilating taught me the depths of my masochism. I've endured Brazilian waxes before. I thought I had evolved beyond pain. No. Epilators are slow, self-induced torture. Not only will it take you about an hour and half to mow your assorted lawns (if by "mowing" you mean getting on your hands and knees and grabbing handfuls of grass at a time), you get to revel in the knowledge that
- you're bringing this pain upon yourself and can stop it at any time (but shouldn't, because then what is it all for?!), and
- it won't last as long as waxing anyway because sometimes epilators break the hairs instead of pulling them out by the root, and because hair grows cyclically, it won't be possible for you to pull out all the hairs at once.
My sisyphean gambit had been inspired by watching my boyfriend clock his showers at ten minutes flat. Unencumbered by removing most of his naturally occurring fluff (of which, thankfully, he has more than I), he is able to go about his life. In the average time between the end of his showers and the end of mine, my boyfriend is able to:
- Level up in WOW
- Read about why millennials hate Pete Buttigieg
- Cook dinner
- Apply to a job
- Take our dog for a walk
- All of the above!
So, I got to thinking...if hair removal is so futile, perhaps it is not necessary every day? I tried not to shave every day. I tried! But I've eaten the fruit of knowledge! I've known the feel of smooth legs and can no longer abide stubble on my person. If I skip a day of shaving, I automatically feel like I'm not presenting the best version of myself to the world and the day is off on the wrong, furry foot. I hate that I feel this way. I take cold comfort in lipstick feminism, but nevertheless wonder how time spent on hair removal plays into such things as gender norms and the wage gap. Yes, this is where my head goes.
I know it is not only women who routinely work hair removal into their self-care routine. But more often than not, women are the ones in society suffering from a focus on hair removal. Of course men enter this circus too, but there is more of a societal expectation for women to have hairless legs than for men to have a hairless chest. And many women who do remove their hair regularly, like me, do so for the purely selfish reason that they enjoy the feeling of smooth skin. But with this practice comes great cost. Aside from the high, repeating monetary cost of waxing, threading, or sugaring (which has apparently been around since 1900 BCE, guess I'm the fool), there is an opportunity cost. Maybe it's marginal day to day, but the cost builds. What could you do with all that time?
In a society where such time-saving measures as paying people to do your grocery shopping are no longer far-fetched, I wonder why we have not streamlined beauty routines. At the same time, when I'm not cycling through the standard millennial freak-out about how well paid and yet poor I am—and whether it's not only due to corruption and, like, the patriarchy, but also somehow a function of the time I spend playing whack-a-mole with my follicles—I occasionally take solace in the meditative solitude of shaving. So, that may be my answer for the moment: with that extra time, I could just chill the fuck out, turn off my brain, and enjoy the dopamine hit of completing a mindless task.
But these are the thoughts that make me want to tear my hair out.
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