Big Hairy Fit
There is a place for everything, and everything has its place. Even hair. I know someone who believes women are unattractive unless Brazilian-waxed within an inch of their lives. When I informed him that no one, under any circumstances, would convince me I need to be bare to be sexy, he “complimented” me that, although he’d never seen me naked, he imagined I am still hot with my pants off, “which is saying a lot, since usually hair is a deal breaker.” Thanks, man. Your girlfriends sure are lucky ladies!
Hair is weird–it reminds us of our origins, and reminds that everyone (even that really stinky guy over there with dirty fingernails and a ball cap on backwards) has genitals. A lone, wiry hair on a dinner plate, lying in the sink, or plucked from your sleeve and which clearly didn’t come from your own body evokes a primal shudder. Rogue hairs call to mind bottoms and bits, pits and chests, strangers and monkeys and germs and secretions. Hair reminds us of the corporeal and reduces us to a collection of functions and basic parts.
Cue the aforementioned primal shudder. And then, cue a second wave of shivers upon which surfs the question, “Are we judgmental jerks for not being into outrageously hairy dudes?” Am I no different than my friend who thinks the natural state of affairs is a full Brazilian? And if so, does this make his opinion acceptable, or are he and I both in the wrong?