When I was in college, I went on a road trip with a group of girlfriends. We were in two cars, and when we stopped at the halfway point and everyone got out to have a stretch, Liz, the driver of the other car – who was wearing a bright yellow tank top – raised her arms above her head and revealed the biggest tufts of underarm hair I’d ever seen in my life.
I’d been shaving my own armpits since I was about 13 and the first random dark hair dared to make an appearance. Every teenage girl in my high school PE class and hockey team seemed to de-hair their underarms, too. But life in the college dorms was a bit more relaxed, and while I definitely let my legs get hairier than usual in the winter (when they were safely tucked away in the sweatpants I schlepped to class in), the weather was now warm. Hair removal was again a regular part of my grooming routine. Yet there was Liz, standing on the side of the road, hairy armpits bared to the sun.
Honestly, that moment was the start of my feminist awakening. I cycled rapidly through “Isn’t she embarrassed?” to “No, she clearly does not give a single shit” to “What is wrong with body hair, anyway?” to “What a goddess.” And while I never entirely stopped shaving my underarms, my awe for Liz and her “got hair, don’t care” attitude gave me the courage to go through the rest of college – and beyond – giving far less of a damn what anyone else thought of my own body hair.
For some women, removing body hair feels like part of feeling polished. They love the smooth feeling of freshly waxed legs, the confidence that comes with a beauty ritual, or simply the way they prefer their body to look. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
For others, the pressure to remove body hair feels exhausting. It can feel strange to spend time, money, and energy removing something that naturally grows from our bodies in the first place. And there is also something powerful about deciding that you do not need to alter yourself to be considered attractive.
The important question is not whether you wax, shave, laser, trim, or leave your body hair exactly as it is. The question is whether the choice feels like yours, or whether it feels like a societal expectation that was forced on you without any discussion, let alone consent.
Body hair removal is not a modern invention. Ancient Egyptians were known for their elaborate grooming practices, and hair removal formed part of their wider beauty culture. Women and men used tools such as tweezers, pumice stones, and early wax-based methods as part of their personal grooming routines. Over time, attitudes towards body hair have shifted depending on culture, fashion, and ideas about what different societies considered beautiful.
In the early 20th century, changing fashion trends played a major role in shaping modern expectations around women’s body hair. As sleeveless dresses and shorter hemlines became more common, razor manufacturers began marketing hair removal products directly to women. Advertisements promoted the idea that smooth underarms and legs were signs of good grooming, and some framed visible body hair as unfeminine, indelicate, or undesirable.
The message was powerful because it transformed a normal human feature into a beauty problem that needed solving – and the beauty industry thrives on making women feel “less than” and then declaring that they have all the answers in the form of eye-wateringly expensive (and sometimes painful) products, treatments, and tools.
The interesting thing about beauty standards is that they often feel natural only because we are used to them. Many women grow up seeing hairless female bodies everywhere: Magazines, advertising, films, social media, and, of course, pornography. Over time, that image can become so familiar that anything different feels unusual.
But body hair is not unusual. It is a normal part of being human. The idea that women's bodies should look naturally smooth while requiring regular maintenance to achieve that look is a fairly recent expectation. It takes effort to create something that is often presented as effortless.
Sometimes the answer is genuinely “for ourselves”. Beauty rituals can be enjoyable. They can be a form of self-expression, relaxation, or confidence. Many women enjoy the feeling of freshly shaved legs or the look of a carefully maintained bikini line, and that choice deserves respect. The problem comes when the choice no longer feels like a choice.
If you are waxing because you enjoy it, that is one thing. If you are waxing because you worry someone will find you unacceptable otherwise, that is worth examining. Dating can make this especially complicated. Many women wonder whether they owe it to a potential partner to remove their body hair before a first date or before becoming intimate.
The answer is simple: You do not owe anyone a version of your body that has been altered for their approval. A partner who is attracted to you should be attracted to you as a whole person, not just the version of yourself you have carefully prepared for inspection.
In recent years, more women have started questioning the assumption that body hair automatically needs to be removed. Movements like Januhairy have encouraged women to grow out their body hair and challenge the idea that femininity requires constant maintenance. What started as a personal challenge for some participants became part of a much bigger conversation about beauty standards, choice, and who gets to decide what women's bodies should look like.
The conversation has also appeared in pop culture. When Julia Roberts attended the 1999 premiere of Notting Hill with visible underarm hair, the moment became a global talking point. The actor later explained that the appearance was simply the result of not thinking about it, but the public reaction showed just how closely women's bodies are scrutinized. Decades later, the moment remains one of the most famous examples of how something completely ordinary can become controversial when it challenges expectations about femininity.
Musician Janelle Monáe has also used her work to celebrate femininity, sexuality, and bodily freedom. Her music video for "PYNK" became widely recognised as a joyful celebration of female bodies and self-expression, challenging narrow ideas about what femininity should look like. And while the video is not specifically about body hair, it reflects a broader cultural shift towards women having more ownership over how their bodies are represented.
These moments matter because representation changes what people see as normal. When women see more versions of female bodies represented, the pressure to fit one narrow ideal starts to loosen.
There is a temptation to turn body hair into another thing women are expected to get “right”. But empowerment is not about choosing the correct option – it is about recognising that you have options. Maybe you love the ritual of waxing before you go to the beach. Maybe you prefer shaving because you like the feeling. Maybe you have decided that body hair is simply not something you want to think about anymore, so you ignore it – or you laser it all off. All of those choices are valid.
The freedom comes from knowing that your body does not need to earn desirability. You do not become more feminine because you remove your hair, and you do not become more liberated because you keep it. Your body is not a project that needs constant improvement. It is the place you live your entire life. How you care for it should be about comfort, confidence, and what makes you feel like yourself. Whether you wax, shave, laser, trim, or let nature do its thing, the decision belongs to you.
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