Shaving, waxing, lasering—are women just bowing to the male gaze?

Age-old beauty standards propel women to get rid of their body hair to look ‘civilised’. But does a woman’s relationship with body hair always have to be thorny? 

Most women, at some point in their lives, have been frowned upon by aunties or called out by friends on the noticeable hair on our faces and bodies. The sight of facial and body hair on a woman is repulsive, or so we’ve been told. This is why it doesn’t come as a surprise that people didn’t react fittingly to pictures posted by actors Malaika Arora, Kalki Koechlin, Tillotama Shome and Katrina Kaif where even slight traces of their armpit hair was on show. Strangely enough, celebrities like Julia Roberts, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, and Miley Cyrus have sparked ‘scandalous’ headlines in 1999, 2003, 2011 and 2015 respectively for simply having armpit hair. But, why is spotting body hair on women considered out of the ordinary?

In 2 B.C, Roman poet Ovid advised women to groom themselves so that “no rude goat finds his way beneath your arms and that your legs be not rough with bristling hair”—perhaps, the first record of anti-hair sentiment. By the Renaissance, hairless women were the high-society standard. Ancient Egyptians waxed themselves, but Gillette’s Milady Décolleté razor in 1915 sparked the real grooming craze, selling over one million units in two years. Since then, while body hair among women has been in and out of favour, facial hair remains largely unwelcome. 

Blame a man for sparking the body hair “ick”; thanks to such male gaze-driven beauty standards, many women still feel pressured to stay smooth so as to look “civilised”. But does this thorny relationship with body and facial hair really have to stick around? 

How women were pitted against body hair 

Women’s hair has always played a primary role in defining beauty standards. While long, lustrous hair on the head is praised as feminine and alluring, body hair has been cast as unfeminine and unsightly.

Mumbai-based beauty journalist Anjan Sachar notes, “Indians tend to have thicker, darker hair. As someone with a fairer skin tone, the appearance of body hair was always much more obvious—a standard I absorbed from society. Being hairless makes me feel clean and fresh.” Celebrity dermatologist Dr Jaishree Sharad adds, “The societal expectation from women is to be virtually hairless. Having hair is considered to be a masculine trait…There is also a huge misconception that having hair on the body is unhygienic.”

Have you ever come across a beauty brand’s billboard featuring a hairy woman?Capitalism and the evolution of the beauty industry are the fronts of our obsession with smooth, airbrushed skin. From Gillette advertisements urging women to keep their underarms“smooth as the face”, followed by celebrities like Kim Kardashian endorsing laser treatments, the beauty industry reinforces the idea that hairlessness equals perfection, creating a dysfunctional relationship for women with their body hair. 

Why the shame associated with body hair acceptance is toxic

Freelance artist Sonia Thakurdesai embraced body hair after discovering the “Januhairy” campaign during her university days. “Patriarchy and colonisation undeniably play a role in our perceptions of femininity and ideas of what is and isn’t considered ‘beautiful’. Insecurities pay. It’s profitable for us to believe that there is something inherently wrong with us—that we require whatever products/services that are being sold to help to alter or edit us,” she says. 

Conventional standards pertaining to body hair completely discount individuals with hirsutism, affecting many with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). According to data, one in every five Indian women has been diagnosed with PCOS/PCOD, and approximately 62 per cent of those women experience abnormal levels of hair growth. “People with PCOS and other hormonal abnormalities, who have thicker body hair, are prone to have more distress regarding facial and body hair in general,” says Sharad.

Debosmita Kapse, a marketing professional who was diagnosed with PCOS in her teens, shares,  “I didn’t want other girls to bully me for my facial hair, and eventually getting rid of it became a norm for me, it boosted my confidence.” Sharad highlights that hormonal changes can create pressure around body hair, impacting one’s confidence and self-worth. “People get conscious and feel embarrassed about their body hair, so much so that they end up avoiding social interactions too,” she explains. 

Quebec-based artist and body hair activist Esther Calixte-Bea, says, “That body hair is masculine has been a lie since the beginning. Basing your beauty ideals and the idea of femininity on societal expectations will negatively impact your mental health, since those standards of beauty are always changing and are completely made up. For instance, society saying body hair is unhygienic has always been a lie because body hair has many purposes, and one of them is to regulate your body temperature and protect you.”

Our obsession with hairlessness is rooted in misogyny, argues graphic designer Troyee Barua. Hairlessness isn’t just a marker of femininity, but has been sold as an idea of youthfulness and “cleanliness”. “It’s clean, the way virginity is ‘clean’. But it’s just masked paedophilia that became a beauty trend,” she says. “I think it’s sick when men in intimate situations complain or express discomfort about [women’s] pubic hair. I still face these remarks, and I’m navigating how to respond to them.”

Normalise body hair—why it’s liberating

Tying body hair to femininity (or masculinity) is, frankly, tone-deaf. “I started getting waxed when I was around 16 or 17 years old, just because I realised the body hair on my classmates had started disappearing. None of the mothers or women around me questioned it. But, it was just the pain, money, and scheduling [associated with waxing] that made me begin to question it. I soon felt empowered to be that girl with her bushy pits out. It’s the most edgy and rebellious accessory you can have. I now live in Goa and am surrounded by women who make their own choices about their body hair. The solidarity I’ve found among them  is way more valuable than any of the validation I’ve lost from men,” says Barua. “Remember, they picked an impossibility—a hairless woman—and sold it to you. It’s not real so there’s no reason to associate your self-worth with it. With femininity and womanhood comes body hair; anyone who thinks otherwise has been brainwashed.”

Calixte-Bea admits feeling depressed as she would constantly remove her body hair, almost every three days. She would also avoid swimming because of the time it would take to shave and the irritation it caused once the hair started growing back. However, embracing her heritage made all the difference. “I hated my hairiness and would cry every time I looked in the mirror. Accepting my body hair made me realise that it is part of me—there was nothing wrong with me but something wrong with society. Physically, my skin started to heal from the scars and my body hair grew out beautifully. After becoming a body hair activist, my aunt from Ivory Coast later shared that in the Wè tribe [which I belong to]---where women are very hairy, including my ancestors—it was a sign of beauty, maturity, and fertility.”

According to Thakurdesai, when the key reason for removing body and facial hair is shame, it’s also an emotionally draining and painful experience. “I’m still navigating feelings of shame, but embracing my [body] hair has helped to combat a huge part of it. Sometimes, I give into shaving, but that’s mostly for myself, and not society.”

Rethinking your relationship with body hair

Before deducing your relationship with your body or facial hair, think about your intent. Are you removing it to appear sophisticated, or are you truly uncomfortable with it on your own terms? Championing body hair doesn’t essentially account for the healthiest relationship with it; understanding how you truly feel about it does. “It would be easy to say hair is insignificant, but the truth is that for many of us, hair holds a lot of emotional and cultural significance. Hair holds history and DNA. I don’t want to dilute that. Hair can be an incredibly powerful thing, but it isn’t the only thing. What’s worrying is the insidious and fixed ideas of beauty society upholds, and how that becomes a sole source of self-esteem/confidence,” expresses Thakurdesai.

Dr Madhuri Agarwal, a celebrity dermatologist and founder, Yavana Aesthetics, suggests introspection for a more empowering relationship with body hair. “In case it affects you, give hair removal a shot, but do not fret over it. Also understand that, at times, hormones and stress can contribute to changing body/facial hair patterns, and that must be addressed with a professional separately.”

Barua, in her own journey, feels liberated from the grip of societal standards. “I have fought every anti-hair woman I know on this, and I feel like it’s a losing battle. Honestly, there is so much to be said about the freedom and confidence it gives you, but that’s a hard sell. I would just want them to know that this is a beauty standard that has slowly grown from a history of exploitation of young women,” she says. “I can’t imagine putting on a shirt with sleeves just because I need a shave. A substantial chunk of my brain has been freed up–I think that would be the best way to describe it.”

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