The Way We Perceive Body Hair, and Its White Supremacy Origins

By: Tahara Roberts

The Way We Perceive Body Hair, and Its White Supremacy Origins

Photo Credit: Canva

Sometimes our childhood seems far removed from who we are as adults. Like when parents forget that they were once children, or if “When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.” was an actual thing. In reality, we’re all living with compartmentalized, impactful childhood experiences that resurface every so often just to remind us that they exist. As a kid, I had a pit full of misconceptions about body hair, and a warped sense of what was considered “pretty”, “neat” or “acceptable”. This mindset carried into early adulthood. As children, our little impressionable brains soak up everything - what we hear from friends, to the shows and ads we watch. From young, we start internalizing messages that are intentionally put out to make us feel self-conscious about our bodies and concerned about how people perceive them. As Black people, as Black women, these messages ring louder for some reason. 

At ten, I almost dug myself into a hole while walking down President Street to take passport pictures. Someone’s son formed their mouth to yell at me: That’s why you have hair on your back! If this moment was a cartoon it would be Beep Beep, and I’d be Road Runner, heels tapping my ass as I sped away. He was upset, upset. God forbid a girl or woman continues walking after ignoring advances. She goes from “Sweetness” to “Bitch” real quick, but that’s a topic for another day. Who cares what people declare about body hair? How it protects the epidermis, how it regulates body temperature, how it stores pheromones, the weapons of lustation. None of that means a damn thing to most ten-year-olds. All that matters is the sweat spot forming at the middle of your back from the warmth applied by July rays, and now, shame. Into the hole I go. 

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I was sitting in class during junior high when the room erupted “EWWwww!” as we watched a hairy vagina work its magic to birth a baby. Judgemental giggles echoed throughout the room confirming the negative connotation of “hairy vagina” and almost overshadowing the official arrival of a whole human being. In high school, it seemed like a lot of people were missing hair follicles outside of designated areas such as on their heads, and eyebrow areas; to have hair elsewhere meant you were picked apart. God forbid you have a series of hair lined from the navel down to your pubic area (sagittal hair, if we’re getting technical), or arm hair long enough to brush sideways, and sideburns that were Elvis thiccc, with three c’s, you were officially cast as hairy girl #2 in that class. It’s silent sometimes, and fine, without ingrowns. Sometimes it’s bold as fuck, and prickly like a bad day. Everyone has personal relationships with their body hair, and is entitled to do as they please when grooming, but why do people get crucified for literally letting their hair down? 

It stems back to Darwin and “survival of the fittest.” Having hair decreased your chances of surviving battles, but it also meant you were closer to ‘primitive’ ancestry and ‘less developed’. During the 19th century, women didn’t wear revealing clothing, but as this changed, and due to a nylon shortage during WWII, there was more pressure for women to become hairless. People even risked their lives to get rid of body hair by lathering on a rat poison based cream. It was like a real-life drug commercial: smiling, hairless people riding bikes or hiking in slow motion, their spleens secretly on the cusp of bursting. The gag is that if you had thick, coarse hair you were deemed a “crued, low class and immigrant”. No one wants to blame white supremacy for everything, but when the glove fits, and the track record continues to submerge, then welp: at the core, body hair shaming is an offspring of white supremacy. The creator of L’Oréal is on record revealing his marketing strategy, unmasking the psychological manipulation of the industry, which forces our critical thinking skills out to play: Tell people they’re disgusting, they don’t smell good, and they’re not attractive. White people were never exempt from the patriarchal messages of monopolizing beauty giants. However, when people of color are already viewed as “dirty and low class”, the messaging hits different and deeper, like a stabbed knife being pushed and twisted; it becomes even more damaging to these groups. 

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While doing research to learn more about the origins of why we are conditioned to hate our body hair, I realized that this topic isn’t explored or talked about enough. Many articles were centered in whiteness, and either omitted the experience of Black people, and people of color, (especially women), or mentioned it but didn’t dive deep into the historical context. The constant policing of all things, especially our bodies, has existed since we unwillingly stepped foot on this land. “Attempts to decolonize one's beauty routine often lead to pushback from the outside world — especially for Black and brown people.” - Noliwe Rooks, a professor at Cornell University, and expert in segregation, hair, education, and philanthrocapitalism. We cannot escape the grips of white supremacy, but we can control who we surround ourselves with and are intimate with. This has a huge impact on how we view our bodies as well. In high school, I remember getting lost in a conversation about body hair with a girl who is still my best friend to this day. Consistently having a safe space to be hairy and in all of our glory helps eradicate almost every hurtful and awkward moment from the past. You realize that you are not alone and that what is decidedly unconventional, is actually normal and ok. Monica Hernandez’s brilliant rant about the social construct of removing body hair also touches on the hateful comments that frequent the comment section of her social media profiles. How someone reacts to your body hair could be a good way to weed out the bozos. There is nothing wrong with shaving, trimming, waxing, or lasering, but it’s nice to feel empowered about owning that personal choice, and feeling confident in however we choose to wear our body hair. We shouldn't feel pressured by anyone to strip down to a slippery, featherless spring chicken. It took a good chunk of my life to not feel ashamed by the "hairy" label. If I could go back in time, I would put my little self on game: we were conditioned to think body hair equates dirty, meanwhile, it's protective, sensual, and creates good friction - embrace it. As we continue to have grace with ourselves, let’s continue to share our experiences, and encourage others to do the same, destigmatizing body hair on dark bodies, and paving a more empowered path for future youngins. 

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