I've always been a late bloomer, so it wasn't until my late '20s that it occurred to me to groom my somewhat pronounced Black Irish eyebrows. And it was only natural that my carpet was mostly natural; I did minimal trimming to reign in my coordinating pronounced downtown region. I believe SNL's Amy Poehler on "Weekend Update" compared this old school size of pubic-hair real estate to a slice of New York City pizza, which would not be altogether off the mark in describing my zone's unaltered state. My reasons were numerous, though I'd never had to give them.
Thanks to today's young starlets, everyone from Tibetan monks to old New Englanders sitting around the cracker barrel knows that it is in vogue for women to wax off all their pubes. But to me, a bald bush on a grown woman is ridiculous and unattractive, a cultural byproduct of an increasingly pornified America. Its implication is disturbing—why is it supposed to be desirable for a woman's privates to look like a prepubescent child's? I don't feel the need to touch girl boobies in public for the edification of any watching spring-breakers, and by the same token I don't feel the need for my birth canal to be as fully on-display as a porn star's. I'm a vintage-loving gal who doesn't share the modern (and to me, cheesy) aesthetic of women who have year-round tans and stripey highlights in their flat-ironed hair, so I don't think our vaginas need to match, either. I don't want my man to be manscaped, so I don't think that I should be so artificially hairless, either. And so on.
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