The Pandemic Has Changed How I Groom My Pubes for Good
I didn't think much about my pubic hair for the first couple of decades of my life. I mean, I thought about it when it first arrived, and I also thought about it when it got stuck in something or was sticking out of something—two things that happen to bush-blessed women more often than you might expect. But, these minor disasters aside, I didn't give the hair between my legs much thought at all.
It was only when it began to occur to me that someone other than my doctor might see it, and that I might want that someone other than my doctor to like what they saw, that I really started thinking about my pubic hair consciously. It's not as though I was deep-conditioning it nightly, but with sex on the horizon for the first time, it was front of mind.
The grand adventure of pubes
As an adult in the dating world, I tentatively began to have conversations with my sexual partners about the state of my pubes. Not prolonged discourse—just a quick check-in to make sure the experience down under was enjoyable for all parties involved. Look, feel, taste and, above all else, smell. I find showing someone your pubic region for the first time is not unlike hosting a high-stakes dinner party: You know that what you're serving is delectable, but you want everyone else supping at your table to eat with gusto as well.
With my sexual partners, I was lucky. I never came across a man who invoked the word "fish" when discussing my vagina. I also never came across a man who cared particularly what I was doing with my pubes, provided he was allowed to continue to visit my home for meals, to overlabor a metaphor if you'll allow me.
I began to enjoy the pubic freedom of the sexually positive feminist woman I was. I changed styles. I rocked a '70s-style bush. I even once waxed out a lightning bolt for sport! Dream it, my pubes would be it.
Then I turned 30, met a serious partner, entered into a long-term relationship and didn't have time for whimsical pubes. It was time to get to work: I took up the Brazilian. Now, a lot of people look down on the Brazilian wax, but for me it was the natural option and had been since I adopted it seven years ago. It's clean, it's fast, the hair grows back more slowly, and when it comes in, I've found mine to be softer. But for me, the real joy of the Brazilian was the sensitivity. With hair gone, there's one less thing coming between you and the skin-to-skin contact of intimacy. Right?
Bye-bye, Brazilian
Then, of course, the pandemic came and I, like so many other women out there, gave up waxing. Heck, I'll be honest—I gave up trimming. Over the past year, my hair has grown in—softer and lighter, yes, but impossible to ignore. Now that I'm vaccinated and places (like wax studios and salons) are starting to seem more safe, I should feel buzzing and ready to go at the idea of getting my old pubes back, which is to say, no pubes at all.
But the truth of the matter is that maybe I'm done letting outside influences and my own internalized idea of "sexy" inform how I style my pubes. For all the talk of increased sensitivity, my libido hasn't been hampered by the new addition of my bountiful bush. It's funny how you can think you know all about your body and then, bam, just like that, you're at the beginning of another journey.
The journey for me and my pubic hair isn't that epic in scope, but I know it's one many other women are contending with as we all venture back into the world and try to return to some sort of normalcy. And if that normalcy means a Brazilian or maybe never darkening the door of another European Wax Center, that's OK, too.
