Shaving: a story of slave work

We see it in commercials and hear about it since we are born. No matter how much we hate it nowadays, we have to accept the idea that at one point in our lives it was the most remarkable event in the course of our lifetime. Probably, your mother helped you do it the first time or you did it behind her back. Maybe you never wanted it to happen, but then realized that it was just and necessary for the sanity of others and yours. At first it might have been foreign territory, but now you can perform the act with eyes closed and in less than ten minutes. What am I referring to? Ladies, it’s time to talk about shaving.

If there’s one thing that sets us apart from men, it’s this. Performing the act of shaving in a young girl’s life is a very important moment that one will always remember. Why? I really have no explanation for it, but for some reason, it is one of the highlights of every girl’s life. Maybe because it reveals a whole new side of yourself or because you can now wear skirts without looking like the Yeti. Either reason, shaving your legs is an act of initiation into a woman’s life; it’s one of the first glimpses at the responsibilities a female has towards her body. It’s the first performance of the slavery that is taking care of oneself.

I am sure we all have very different stories about shaving. Maybe you hated it, maybe you loved it. No shaving story is the same. I can only say that mine had something to do with my mother spending about an hour in my shower gently applying cream on my legs and peeling off all the disgusting hairs. I remember being as excited as one can be at the age of 10. The next day I was going to be performing with my cheer squad showing my womanly legs for the first time without feeling embarrassed about wearing a super short, hot pant-looking skirt.

But these days I am not as excited about shaving, at all. For someone that wears so many skirts, my legs are not the epitome of female hygiene. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I cannot lie to you. So, how is it that something so wonderful became such slave work? At what time did it lose the magic? Not only for me. I am sure I can speak on behalf of many women, who despise shaving their legs. I once had a conversation with my cousin, a dermatology student, in which she described to me a method she would like to invent in order to reject the idea of shaving altogether. It consisted of a jacuzzi-looking pool in which one would submerge and remove all undesirable body hairs. I wish her imaginary invention would become reality.

But here’s the topic of discussion: can we really live without shaving our legs? Why do we hate it so much? For me, it is one of those little details and incomprehensible activities that make women be, well, women. And as much as men try to emulate our shaving ways, they cannot compare to the traditional, ritual-like approach to shaving like we do. So, I say we own up to it. Shave it like you mean it! Or at least try, like I will.

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