So this year, I partook in my first ever No Shave November. If you haven’t heard of this, it’s a month long event in which participants forgo shaving their body hair. I am not sure of the event’s origins, but have heard of several different reasons behind it, one of them being to raise cancer awareness. However, I think it has come to be understood as more of a personal challenge for people to undertake.

It is much more commonplace for men to partake in No Shave November, but the event is not exclusive to men. Still, it has generally come to be viewed as an exclusively male event as men are largely the only participants to document their experience on social media. This could be due to the fact that for men, No Shave November usually means growing out facial hair, and it is much less shocking for a man to share a photo or story of growing out his facial hair than it is for a woman to share a photo or story of growing out her armpit or leg hair. I think the stigma surrounding female body hair has helped perpetuate the idea of No Shave November as an exclusively male event.

Darn tootin’!
Courtesy of sassyecards.com

I had never thought of partaking before this year. In fact, my participation this year sort of happened by accident. I’m already a pretty lazy shaver. With light and slow-growing leg hair (and an affinity for pants), I probably only shave my legs a couple times a year. In addition, my armpits have seen less and less contact with a razor as time has gone on. I think once I entered college, my “beauty” routine saw a change in general. I became much busier and was also living on campus, and really, who wants to spend more time in those showers than they have to? Shaving my armpits seemed like much more of a chore and became something I did only when I had an upcoming special occasion where I might don something sleeveless. As my shaving became more infrequent, I began to hate the feeling of my armpits shortly after I’d shaved them. That stubbly feeling against my sensitive Irish skin is a match made in hell. So I came to a point where, special occasions aside, I would generally shave my armpits every 2 weeks or so, after a comfortable level of growth had been reached.

The last time I shaved before November was October 30^th, the day before Halloween (I had a costume that was not armpit-friendly). After that, I went back to my normal routine of waiting 2 weeks to shave. About midway through November, I realized I was in the midst of the No Shave event. I had not shaved yet in the month and realized that if I waited the rest of it out, I could say I had participated. I felt a little cheap for jumping into the event midway through, but also felt I was being true to the spirit of it as I decided to denounce my usual shaving regimen. The longest I had gone before without shaving my armpits was 3 weeks and I wanted to beat my own record.

Let me tell you, people don’t treat it like a challenge for nothin’. By the time I’d reached the fourth full week in November, I was hurting. I’d never let my armpits go this much and the friction of all that hair against my skin truly rivaled the awful armpit stubble feeling; I had found my limit. Halfway through that last week (and I could see the end in sight!) I had had about enough. I grabbed my neglected razor and can of shaving cream and toted them to the shower. But as awful as that feeling under my arms was, I couldn’t bring myself to shave. I sighed deeply and refreshed myself with the thought that I would be seeing my extended family for Thanksgiving in a few days, looking all put-together and groomed with this secret jungle of hair under my arms, and I thought that was pretty awesome.

Another obstacle in my No Shave journey was the fact that I was going to a party on the last night of the month. Usually I shave for shindigs, and very nearly chopped down the pit forests for this one, but decided to stick it out (it was the last night of November after all). The dilemma that the party faced me with—to shave or not to shave—made me think about why I feel the need to shave for these “special occasions” at all. Is it the prospect of meeting new people and not wanting to appear strange for having armpit hair? Is it the prospect of a possible physical encounter? When it comes down to it, I don’t really show off my armpits anyway. And even if I did, why would it matter if they were hairy? I went to the party hairy pits & all and had an awesome time. I ended up being totally glad I stuck it out—though I desperately wanted to shave as soon as December 1^st arrived.

That process, the physical act of shaving off the armpit hair I’d grown, was probably the most thought-provoking of all. I had a brand new razor, as I knew this was going to be a big job. Even still, several strokes of the fresh blades only skimmed the surface. It reminded me of heads of broccoli being bitten off or the tops of the Truffula trees being chopped down in The Lorax—the stems, the trunks, the roots still remained. It was like all that hair that I’d spent so much time with didn’t want to go. I hadn’t felt nakedness under my arms for a month, and as I replaced that scratchy, angry forest with soft, bare skin, a new pain crept in, one of exposure. My armpits stung as the blades scraped across their surface and as I looked the hairs tangled in the razor and swirling down the drain, I felt vulnerable. I’d built up a sense of pride in my hair growth and, in a rare instance, stepped out of my comfortable routine with my body and now I was marking the end of a journey.

I realize I’m being a bit dramatic about all this. I didn’t go into this trying to make a statement about women and body hair or challenge the notion that No Shave November is only for men. I just sort of stumbled into the experience and decided to keep at it, and that’s where my pride lies—in my ability to have control over my body and take it somewhere it’s never been. Though I am also sort of proud that I did it “as a woman”; I think it’s silly there needs to be a distinction between men doing No Shave November and women doing it, but a strong divide exists nonetheless. For instance, of the few people I’d told about my personal No Shave experience, some of my female friends thought it was strange. I think they just didn’t understand why I would do it. Even in the midst of it, I didn’t understand. I just knew I wanted to finish out the month. But a goal as simple as that unexpectedly taught me a lot; it made me reflect upon my body hair “history” and question why I shave, and showed me that when it comes to managing my body, I have a lot more perseverance than I’m aware of.