The Great Hair Exodus

I just wanted smooth legs, instead I had a meltdown.

I recently decided I was done with shaving. It took me nearly 35 years to reach this conclusion, but here we are: either I embrace full woodland-creature status or I find an alternative. And because I am fundamentally lazy (and a mum!) I started researching laser hair removal.

I found a very lovely woman at a beauty salon who assured me that after a few appointments and a small financial sacrifice to the gods of hairlessness, I could be as smooth as a freshly buffed dolphin. But since I live in the middle of nowhere and can barely commit to a meal plan, that was out.

Then, a friend suggested a home laser hair removal machine. “It’s nearly my birthday,” I reasoned with myself, as if that justified potentially incinerating my own follicles. Now, I will not be naming the brand of laser I use - not because of professionalism, but out of pure, childish pettiness. Because do you know what is expensive? Laser hair removal. And do you know what I wasn’t sure would even work? The laser hair removal machine I now own.

Now, I have never used my platform for evil. However.

I did try to blag a free machine. Not just any random freebie - I wasn’t asking for a lifetime supply of laser machines… but an item I genuinely wanted and would have reviewed with integrity. I was the PERFECT “influencer” (ew) for this. Did they respond? No. And I am still bitter? Yes. So no, I will not be giving them free advertising because I am petty and this is my hill to die on.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Hair removal.

Before you zap your sad little hair follicles into oblivion, you have to shave. Which means I had to do a full-body shave. I don’t think I’ve done that since approximately 2018. And in my overzealousness, I decided all hair should go. (Some details will remain private because, even for me, there are limits.) But there I was, sliding around my bathroom like a human seal, ready to vaporise my hair into the past.

The process itself was fine. Didn’t take long. Didn’t hurt. Success!

And then, because I can’t just do things without spiraling into an existential crisis - I had a realisation.

I hadn’t really thought about what it meant to suddenly be hairless. There’s something about permanently removing something that’s always been there that makes you question why you’re doing it in the first place. What had I internalised about what’s “normal”? Who decided what parts of us should be smooth and what parts shouldn’t? Why do we even care?

Cue immediate regret.

Thankfully, these things take multiple sessions, so my transformation into a bald mole woman isn’t complete. And to be clear, I support your choices: shave, don’t shave, dye your leg hair purple and give it a name if you want. You do you.

But for me, I think I’ve landed somewhere in the middle. Leg hair (and the big toe) will be eradicated. Maybe the bikini line, too. But the rest? The rest can stay.