When they started to grow, especially in my armpits, my mother gave me the blade and told me to shave. I was a child and even without her explaining to me why I had to shave, I shaved my armpits. Not because I wanted to because she told me to. And despite everything, you know what?
I am hairy. Big time. The hair that grows on me is thick and dark and quite contrasting to my pale skin. I never had much issue with this as a child, but when my mother sat me on the veranda aged twelve and waxed my legs for the first time I learnt to believe hairy legs were something to be ashamed of. Over the years I have come to accept and love my hairy armpits and monobrow, but feeling the freedom to let my leg hairs be seen wild and bushy is not quite something I have overcome socially, yet. I let my leg hair grow in the wintertime, cause seriously as if I could be bothered, and I have been able to produce a generous covering of thick dark and soft hair from toes to upper thigh. Which was very offensive, for obvious reasons.