I have an ingrown hair. This isn’t that unusual a thing- typically. . .

Mine is on my face.

Lucky me.

This evil hair that comes along every so often is the top point of the Bermuda triangle to the left of my lips. The other points of the triangle are a vein that people often think is blue ink and one of many moles.

I’m very attractive.

I’ve long had a love hate thing with my hair. I love the hair on my head and I love my eyebrow shape and colour. . . The problem is if go a few days without plucking my brows, I’d give Frida Kahlo a run for her money.

Sex-y.

It is something I have been horribly self-conscious of for years. It horrifies me to be honest. What I find interesting is most women, if they start talking about this topic will also confess their hersutisic tendencies. Given that most women are in constant battle with the hair, why is it such a huge taboo?

A year ago there was a documentary on the BBC that Shazia Mirza did called, “F**k Off, I’m A Hairy Woman” where she didn’t shave for six months and she encouraged other furry women to do the same. I gotta be honest- on one hand. . . yeah, happy! that so many other women have the fur ball gene. On the other, I just think it’s kind of gross. I don’t want to see furry chicks. I don’t what to be a monkey girl. . .

I remember once seeing a homeless woman in LA near my apartment in Los Feliz. She had a serious grey goatee going on and I just couldn’t look away. There is something seriously wrong with me that I was more horrified that she had a beard than that she was homeless.

I also find it a little troubling that if a genie gave me three wishes that two of them would be for thin thighs and no more body hair issues. What kind of feminist am I?

The third wish would be, of course, for world peace. (Wave Miss Hairy America! Wave!)

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