OK, I’ve had it. People need to stop ragging on hairy guys. It’s mean. Also, it just doesn’t make sense.
I’ve noticed that a lot of people (and I mean real people, with souls and stuff, not tabloids and anyone who was trying to prevent Hillary Clinton from becoming president) are pretty careful not to say mean things about women’s appearances. It’s like, “They’ve suffered enough…” There’s this wall of political correctness that has risen around women in polite society. We didn’t even let them into Princeton until like thirty years ago. We should probably apologize. No, no, that’s too awkward. Not when I’m wearing my power suit. Let’s just be nicer to them at dinner parties.
But even at a dinner party, a woman could probably say something about body hair being gross, and it would be fine. People would laugh.
“Body hair.” Even the words sound gross together. It’s like “farting warts.” Or “advanced herpes.” Farting warts? I don’t even know.
Can someone explain to me why a man having hair on his body is supposed to be gross? And then, after that, can that person continue explaining and explain why it’s widely considered a safe assumption that all women agree on this point?
Once a friend of mine hooked up with a guy who said, “I’d go down on you, but you’re not shaved.”
And she was like, “Well, I’d go out with you, but you’re a terrible person.” And she left.
That seems like the right reaction to me. It shouldn’t be OK for someone else to tell you how your body should look.
And also, when did pubic hair become gross? That’s another topic.
My dad is hairy. I wrote about being hairy myself, here. I blame him. But I never thought he was weird-looking. He’s my dad! I thought all dads had a lot of hair on their chests. In fact, I thought that dads who didn’t have hair on their chests were probably not as dad-like. They also probably couldn’t do as good of a gorilla impression as my dad could (he was very proud of his and it was always really, really embarrassing when we went to the zoo).
I grew up and dated hairless boys (there wasn’t very much body hair to go around during the teenaged years), and thought they looked fine. My friends started complaining about body hair on guys. “It was on his back. Ew.”
I learned that there were rules for where hair could grow. A little at the center of the chest was acceptable. It should be carefully contained. It might spread, like a hideous virus. It might take over the world.
In movies, hairy guys had to get waxed for the first time ever. They were always wimpy, hairy guys, and they screamed and screamed and everyone thought it was hilarious. Sometimes it was pretty hilarious.
In Sex and the City, Charlotte’s Harry had to get waxed to go with her to a fancy Hamptons’ pool party. He wasn’t presentable until then.
Male models don’t have body hair. Body builders shave. Movies stars are mostly hairless, unless they’re comedic or older.
When one of my friends described a guy as “hairy,” what she meant was “not sexy. Not at all sexy.”
So it was very confusing for me when I met a very hairy guy and thought that his hairiness was one of the hottest things about him. And not because he looked like a good dad. That would be weird. Just because it…well, was hot. At first, because I’d been so thoroughly prepped by being alive in a hair-adverse world, I kept expecting myself to not like it quite as much as I found myself liking it. But I kept liking it anyway. I couldn’t help it.
“Wow,” I said, the first time I saw him shirtless, “You are incredibly hairy.”
“I could get it waxed,” he said.
“Are you kidding?” I said. “It’s amazing.”
I don’t call him Bear for nothing (also he’s really big and burly).
These days I feel a little defensive when people say mean, off-handed things about hairy guys (can you tell?). And I also don’t understand why they say them. I mean, obviously preferences exist, and I don’t have a problem with some, or even most women adoring sleek, hairless men, but they don’t have to insult my preferences while doing that!
During my experiment with the women’s mags, I read a really sad piece by a guy. It was about being hairy. “Please,” he begged in a voice that sounded tiny and quavering even on the glossy page, “Stop making fun of me. It really hurts my feelings. I can’t help it that I’m hairy. Please stop thinking you can say things about my body without me caring. Can someone just cut us hairy guys a break? It would really mean a lot. Really.”
Don’t worry, hairy man! It is I– Cake Woman! I am here to rescue you! Put your big, muscular arms around me as I fly you gently to safety.
But seriously. It has to stop. Hairy men are da bomb.
I can’t believe I just said that. But I’m going to stand by it.
Sometimes I even catch myself thinking, “Bet your man’s not as hairy as mine…” and smiling to myself. Bear wins every time. And there is nothing at all wrong with that. With winning the constant cosmic body hair contest. Hell yeah.
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Un-roast: Today I love the way my legs look when I cross them. it’s just cute and perky looking for some reason.
P.S. Am I totally keeping my promise about the photos? Yes I am. I’m pretty proud of myself for that, too.
My interview with Dan Abrams, famous guy and author of the new book Man Down, is up on Aol’s front page for like ten more minutes. I tried to sound like a magazine writer in it, so it’s embarrassing. But it was pretty fun!
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