Optical Options Require Light

We have entered the days of astonishment. The sidewalks widen to allow passing smiles in protective masks.. “Optical Options Require Light” is published by Will Schmit in Other Doors.

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To Shave or Not To Shave

A modern feminist’s dilemma

I remember the first time shaving ever crossed my mind and I stared down at my peach fuzz legs with disdain before I had even started my period or bought my first bra.

I was in my middle school PE class, and everyone was wearing their class-mandated shorts. The girls I was sitting with were examining their legs. Some were admiring their smooth, freshly shaven legs. Others were examining their stubble, agreeing that they needed to shave that night.

I looked at my own legs. I was a late bloomer, so there wasn’t much more than blonde baby hairs on my skin. I had some hairs showing up elsewhere on my body, but I had never been aware of them, let alone thought about removing them.

Nevertheless, I felt ashamed. My legs weren’t hairless like theirs. If I wanted to be feminine, womanly, if I wanted people to accept me and like me like they liked the beautiful, popular girls surrounding me, I needed to shave.

I asked my mom if I could start shaving. She asked me why I wanted to shave my legs. I told her my legs were too hairy. She said I didn’t need to, but I could if I wanted to. So she gave me an electric razor and showed me how to shave my legs over the bathtub. My armpits were next in line.

My pubic hair eventually grew in full force. It was dark and thick, and I loved it. I remember seeing my mom naked when I was young. She had beautiful, bushy pubic hair, and once I had some of my own, I felt like a woman.

I never touched my pubic hair until I was 15 and I was preparing for my first intimate experience with a guy.

I had plans to meet up with my crush. We never explicitly talked about what would happen on our date, but either my intuition or our flirtatiousness filled me in.

The day before, I shaved off all of my pubic hair. Some expectation of hairlessness had been ingrained in me, and I made the decision as if programmed. When I was finished, I looked in the mirror, and I hated it.

I felt like a child, like my womanhood had been stripped away. The only upside was how smooth my underwear felt against my skin.

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