Stars like Miley Cyrus, Madonna and Girls’ Jemima Kirke have put underarm hair back on the agenda. Here, Kate Wills, 30, explains why she’s freed herself from the tyranny of the razor
If I lift my arms, you can’t fail to notice it: tufts of soft, downy armpit hair. It’s hair nature intended me to have, but it raises eyebrows. Sometimes, it even provokes long stares. Yet growing it has changed how I feel about my body – for the better.
Shaving my armpits used to be something I did every day and gave little thought to, like flossing or changing my underwear. A small price to pay for keeping up the pretence that I, like all women deemed attractive since the start of the 20th century, was hairless and smooth. I’d occasionally get angry rashes or question the money I was shelling out on razors, but I dutifully kept it up.
It’s hard to remember the exact moment I stopped shaving. There was no ceremonious burning of my Gillette Venus. No Facebook status declaring myself free from the tyranny of an outdated aesthetic standard. Mainly it was just laziness and curiosity. About 18 months ago, I decided to let my underarm hair grow and, after an annoying stubbly, itchy phase, I found I loved it.
In embracing the natural look, I’ve found myself part of a movement – one less about fashion and more about inspiring women to feel comfortable with their bodies. It shouldn’t be radical but, somehow, it is. Despite feminism, which shattered so many rules imposed on women by what men found desirable, shaving our armpits has remained one of our most deeply entrenched beauty rules.
Until very recently, if a woman raised her arm to reveal a thatch of hair, it was genuinely shocking. In 1999, when Julia Roberts accessorised a red-carpet sequinned dress with underarm tufts she almost provoked an international incident.
Lately, though, the trend for armpit hair has been sprouting. People like model Charlotte Free have made it look cool and carefree; the ultimate statement of ownership of their bodies. Swedish artist Arvida Byström uses her Instagram account – replete with snaps of herself sporting unshaven armpits – to challenge gender stereotypes. And now celebrities, including Miley Cyrus and Girls star Jemima Kirke, are taking the look mainstream.
For me, the main benefits of ditching the razor were that it made me feel kinder to my body and cut my morning routine. Of course, I quickly discovered the downsides, too. In my hairless days I could skip deodorant, but hair traps sweat, so now I need to use it without fail every day.
At first, friends would clock my pit-fuzz and politely avert their eyes, embarrassed by my slovenly ‘hygiene’. I caught one woman in the gym changing room staring at my armpits while I blow-dried my hair. Some expressed envy, saying, ‘I wish I was blonde so I could do it too.’ But I wish my hair was more dramatic: black and bushy, so it looks more of a conscious statement, rather than a ‘forgot to shave for a week’ accident.
Surprisingly – to both of us – my boyfriend finds my underarm hair sexy and womanly. Though I’d like to think that, if he didn’t appreciate it, I’d be more likely to ditch him than dig out the Veet. I have male and female friends who’ve told me they find hair on a woman ‘repulsive’, but when you unpick that disgust it seems to boil down to fear of shattering the illusion of women as a feminine ‘other’ – a perpetually childlike state – as opposed to sweaty, hairy, living human beings on the same level as men.
This will be my first summer of joining the ‘under-army’ in my new office, and I have felt a bit nervous flashing my hairy pits. But, so far, bar a few raised eyebrows, nobody has dropped dead at the sight (although dyeing it pink, like Miley, might push the work dress code). I like to think I’m challenging people to think about why they find it surprising. Social conditioning is a force we’re all susceptible to, however liberated we think we are.
So, although my underarm experiment didn’t start as a feminist declaration, it’s become one. Hairy armpits are a small part of the movement towards women not feeling they have to conform to narrow expectations – to primp, preen and starve themselves – to be sexy. And it’s borne out in our lingerie, too. While the ’90s were all about waxing and squeezing into thongs, Generation Y is pleasing itself in big knickers because we know they speak of a confidence and effortlessness that tight, scratchy dental floss doesn’t.
It makes me sad to think of how much time, money and effort I’ve wasted over the years trying to look prepubescent. But at least the situation is finally changing. I clocked another young woman on the bus with fuzzy armpits the other day and had to stop myself lifting my arm in solidarity.
Every woman’s relationship to her body hair is complex and personal. I’ve got a friend who lasers everything religiously – apart from her monobrow. But as the ‘got hair, don’t care’ trend grows, I urge you to give growing your armpit hair a try. It might surprise you how it makes you feel.