I've never shaved my legs. I've never waxed them either, though sometimes I gnaw the hair off of my knees when I'm anxious.
There's not a really good reason why I never have, and any potential reason falls into some abstruse territory between "laziness" and "F society." To have hair on one's legs as a woman is to be some kind of savage, uncouth, disgusting, infra dig gorilla.
Apparently, as women, we all let ourselves go in the winter. We are tasked by magazines with removing our leg hair and sculpting a bikini-ready-sexy-fun-summer-body out of the dreadful, dreadful flab we've all been stockpiling around our midsections all winter. I have an elongated torso and find that bikinis fail to look super-charming on me; however, I wear the hell out of shorts and skirts and dresses.
By all means I should just shave, which is simple but annoying.
I can't pinpoint exactly when the hair on my legs became quite so dark, but I started feeling self-conscious about it in high school. Only one person ever commented on it to me, but I’m sure others noticed. I oscillated between feeling that the hair was part of my allure, and feeling that the hair was the NUMBER ONE MOST IMPORTANT THING keeping me from the absolute height of pulchritude.
I felt that if I shaved my legs, everyone would suddenly realize I am an approximation of Erato, the Greek muse of lyric poetry. In one of these fits of madness I surely contemplating shaving my legs, but always instead found myself retreating to silk stockings and trousers. I knew that even if I fixed the problem, I would not be Erato. I would just find another thing to fix.
I once asked my boyfriend why anyone could be averse to leg hair, and he said something pretty about it feeling softer to not have to stroke his hand against the grain of the hair. Hmm.
So F the double standard. It's warm out, I look sexy in shorts, and I’m going to dye my leg hair purple.
I've dyed my head hair purple a few times, and most recently attempted to get the perfect shade of deep purplish charcoal. It ended up looking rather burgundy, but I still have part of a jar of violet Manic Panic sitting on my makeshift vanity.
I decided to bleach the hair on my legs first. At the height of my desperation to be beautiful, I bought the Sally Hansen Extra Strength Creme Hair Bleach For Arms, Legs & Face. I couldn't bring myself to shave or wax or thread or systematically bite the hair off, so I bleached my leg hair. I hoped that it would inform anyone’s opinion of me as attractive, but I doubt it did, and I never really bleached my leg hair again until now.
I followed the instructions that came in the box--the ones in French, because beauty always feels sexier when you do it in another language. I'm lying; I don't know French. However, it looks pretty sexy--words on the instructions like les poils indésirables seem so sultry and tabou.
Anyway, I slathered that stuff all over my legs with the little spatula after I mixed the bleach with the activator. I did only my lower legs because my thighs aren't particularly hirsute.
You're only meant to leave this stuff on for a brief period of time. I found it very itchy. I wanted to scratch my legs with the little spatula, but one must be sedulous in the pursuit of beauty. There is no beauty without suffering. It would not feel like such a transformation to become beautiful without my arduous eight minutes of desperation.
Oui, voilà! My legs are blonde. The light hair actually makes them look a bit golden. This is the appropriate place to stop, of course, for legs than can pass for conventionally attractive.
But because I must press on and do shocking things out of my dull sense of anomie, I got out the Manic Panic, and put some on a disposable mascara wand, which seemed the best way to dye the hairs, and not my legs. I brushed it on my newly blondened hairs, pushing the hair up and against the grain with the wand.
I let the dye sit on there while I listened to Lou Reed's "Transformer" all the way through, and then listened to Big Star's "#1 Record" all the way through. Then I jumped into the shower and sang “Andy’s Chest” over and over again. The color turned out subtly.
The hair on my legs is now purple. It really just looks like a light purple shimmer on my legs unless one is up close, as if I used a violet tinted moisturizer.
My boyfriend suddenly likes my leg hair now; I think the idea of anything absurd amuses him. I suppose I am even more repulsive now, but I like it too. It makes me feel mysterious.
Would you ever consider coloring your leg hair? Have you already?