What better way to start this blog than by admitting I have man hairs? (Sometimes I really question my lack of a filter online.) Don’t worry though, I’m writing this post for a good reason: 1) it makes me laugh, especially when resulting in situations like the image above and 2) to let any other women out there who are traumatized by their man hairs know that they are definitely not alone.
So wait, what do you mean by “man hairs”?
Well, I don’t have man hairs in that I was born a man or anything of that sort. I’m just a woman who was blessed with very hairy genes from her father’s side of the family and as a result I have hair in many places that isn’t deemed desirable for women. Apart from the typical leg and armpit hair, I have to battle my body’s attempts at a unibrow, a mustache, one long colorless jaw hair that randomly grows overnight, three or four dark chest hairs, and, most recently, nipple hairs. Yup, all the hair in all the places. I’m one special lady.
Luckily, I’m not as bothered by my facial hair as I was when I was younger. Sure, I still get moody when people point it out to me. (Thanks ten-year-old nephew for loudly exclaiming “I didn’t know girls could grow mustaches!” while standing with me in a long line at a water park last summer.) But generally speaking I’m aware of my hairiness and I accept that it’s apart of who I am, though I do still use my arsenal of tweezers, bleaches, and razors to try to keep it all under control. (To those who just rock it even in the face of other’s judgments, I salute you.)
But wait, how can you laugh about your man hairs?
I think the thing is, oftentimes in situations we’re mortified in the moment about something that’s happened, but afterwards we realize just how ridiculous it all is and how little it all matters. Take the image at the top of this post, for example.
The last time I visited Dave, my fiancé, we spent a week in Cornwall and found this lovely American-style restaurant that we ate at multiple times. It was in a basement and had romantic candle lighting and was generally empty, so oftentimes when we ate there it felt like a lovely dinner for the two of us. During this one visit, we were sitting across from each other and looking in each other’s eyes while a candle flickered on the table and it was a perfectly romantic moment… until Dave reached over and attempted to remove a man hair sticking up out of my shirt.
From Dave’s point of view, it looked like just a stray string that he could easily remove (and that would’ve been lovely if it that were the case). Instead my eyes followed his hand and I internally cringed as I watched him pull the black string AND REALIZE IT WAS ATTACHED TO MY SKIN! I quickly hit his hand away and cried my embarrassment, and oh what an awkward that moment was. But, lucky Dave, I’ve always been pretty upfront about my man hairs so this wasn’t anything overly shocking (Oh no, I agreed to marry a girl with hair! Curses!) and I took care of it once we got back to the hotel room.
So yes, being a woman with man hairs can lead to some not-so-fun encounters in the moment, and it definitely takes a bit of work to keep on top of if man hairs aren’t your thing, but looking back at laughing at yourself and accepting that this is a part of who you are makes it all a little more worth it. (Or at least, that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself until I figure out a way to swap my dad’s hairy genes for my mom’s.)
Okay, your turn! Does anyone else relate to my man hair woes? Please tell me I’m not alone! I mean, obviously you don’t HAVE to share because I realize other people on the internet have standards, but if you do have a similar story you want to tell or just share your pity for my hairiness, I’ll gladly read and respond.
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