Today I unveiled my armpit hair to the world.
It was actually pretty anticlimactic. “Yawn,” said the island. I think it was stranger to people when I waxed my armpits. Actually, I think that very few people actually care about the status of my body hair. Probably, this includes you.
So, I don’t necessarily like my overly hirsute nature, but I’m committed to it for a while. It’s part of the experience. Interestingly, although I was aware of exposure, I was not self-conscious. Being on this island is really teaching me that so many surface things are actually surface. I talked about individuality before but have never really felt totally comfortable in being different. I always just sort of accepted it as inevitable but awkward. I feel more like me most of the time now. When I get the $40 a month that I’ll need to start waxing again, I’ll do it, because my clothes pull at it disturbingly sometimes and since it’s long and as straight as the hair on my head, it sticks out to the front instead of only revealing itself as a “cute twist of hair” when I raise my arms, a phrase I read in a William Gibson novel once. Plus, when I get back to the city, I don’t want to be known as the girl with the armpit hair. A Paula Cole for our times. That label would be disproportionate to the actual priorities in my life.
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