I have hair removal issues. In fact, I’ve had hair removal issues since my teens. Being the daughter of a swarthy, mostly Italian father and a fair skinned, blonde WASPy mother, it appears I inherited none of my mom’s physical traits, but made up for it by doubling up on my dad’s. I have hair everywhere. In fact, I used to be embarrassed by this fact so much, I never discussed it with anyone except my friend Tracy, who, upon helping me choose a wedding dress for my 3rd wedding commented “It’s a little low-cut. You know you’re going to have to really work on that hair issue on your chest.” Thanks, Tracy.
When I was in my 20’s I realized that I was getting hairy in places that weren’t exactly appropriate for a female – my neck, my chest (not just the usual nipple location – I’m talking ON MY CHEST, people), my upper lip, my chin – and it was then I discovered the necessity of having a really good pair (or two, or three) of tweezers, a good light source and a ready supply of Nair.
It’s probably the neck and chest hair that really piss me off, and embarrass me the most. Women are supposed to have smooth, hairless chests, and not look like they’re closely related to a cave man species. You can imagine the hours and hours of plucking that have gone into those areas over the years, especially during the summer months. Nobody wants to see a chick in a tank top who looks like she’s about halfway through a sex reassignment.
That’s so not cool.
When I was in my thirties, I finally sucked it up and asked my (male) gynecologist about this freaky hair growth. “Is this normal??” I wanted to know. “Well,” he said, scrutinzing my chest and breasts, “it’s not unusual for women to have hair there, but boy, I see what you mean.” That was not comforting. We decided to have my testosterone levels checked, and the news was bad. My testosterone levels were normal. Absolutely normal. “You’re just a hairy woman.” said the doctor when he called me with my results. Fuck.
There’s a part in My Big Fat Greek Wedding when the female relatives of the bride are attacking Toula’s unwanted facial hair just before the wedding. “At last”, I thought “someone had the guts to actually show the world our dirty little secret.” Although it was an hilariously funny scene, it was so real. Nothing says love like having your aunts and cousins minister to your unwanted facial hair, so you won’t be embarrassed on your wedding day. Ditto for friends who offer to pluck your chest hair on your wedding day so you won’t look like a tranny playing bridal dress-up.