Rebel Hair

 

One item on my list was missed. 

My face. 

Specifically, my moustache.

* * *

When I was in elementary school, the hairs on my arms stood up and out most of the time, adult-length'd arm hairs that made me self-conscious. No one said anything about them, but my subtle comparisons with others told me I was different. I shaved my arms in the tub and they all grew back, straight and tall, determined to be different. I gave up and at some point they mostly started to lie down.

* * *

When I was in junior high, "all" of the girls were shaving their legs and I was not allowed. I had been told not to, that I wasn't old enough, and besides my hair was so blond that no one could see it anyway. And yet when I stood waiting for the bus in my pale pink shorts and t-shirt from BiWay, the sun shone on my legs and I felt like every hair was highlighted, showcased for all to see. Look what a baby she is.

* * *

When I was in my 20s or so, I had my eyebrows waxed a few times and tried to keep them plucked so I knew where to add colour if I wanted. This effort mostly failed. I had my eyebrows waxed and tinted for my wedding. My sister arrived and one of the first things she said was, "WOW! You've got eyebrows!" Nevermind the dress.

* * *

There's a place on the northernmost tip of Cape Breton called Meat Cove. The tourism guide advertised their campground as "virtually bug free" and we were excited to whale watch and see the sunrise from our tents. In fact, "virtually bug free" means "windy and cold as hell." I have a clear memory of standing in the washroom wearing every bit of clothing I'd packed, with a windbreaker zipped almost all the way, a sweater around my head in place of a hat. The light in there glared -- I'd call it "alien autopsy lighting" in normal conversation -- and an auburn hair appeared on the side of my neck. I plucked it and it never came back...but I check for it anytime the lighting is just right (wrong).

* * * 

My mother would be mortified but one of the neutral memories of mine that comes to mind if someone asks what life was like at home when I was a teenager and later is of walking into my Mum's room to find her on her bed with a lamp and a magnifying mirror, tweezers in hand, peering over her glasses at me and wondering at the interruption.

* * *

My friends and I have a deal. If you see something, say something. We refer to it as the Rebel Hair Act. The terms and regulations require you to note and act appropriately if a friend has an issue that needs to be addressed.

* * *

All along, there was a wisp of blond hair on my upper lip. There were slightly longer stragglers in my smile lines but I left them all alone until a couple of Meat Cove red ones showed up. Even then, I plucked only those and left the others be. I had onboarded an old theory that hair removal causes things to grow in thicker and darker. I've never had a black hair on my body but I always imagined a relentless Mr. Kotter moustache and I resisted. And why should I get rid of it anyway? It wasn't hurting anyone, it wasn't obvious, and it could be worse. There are lots of women who are more hirsute than I and I support them in their resistance to the patriarchy, beauty standards, etc.

Still. Sometimes I felt like Hulk Hogan.

And at some point in the past year, in the depths of a pandemic when everyone was wearing a mask and hiding their faces, I decided I'd had enough. I was picking at my face and it was one more thing to worry about...were the red hairs there? Was that something else? Am I getting acne from the mask or from constantly worrying my moustache?

So f*ck it. I bought a Schick shaver-y thing and it came off in a flash. No irritation, no problem. I've done it several times and I'm happy every time...and a little bit of worry goes away. Some little aggravation. And I'm quite pleased about it, especially because it was 100% for me. Nobody else knows or gives a sh*t anyway. If you've seen me anywhere but on Zoom during the pandemic, you've seen me wearing a mask. If you've only seen me on Zoom, the resolution is never good enough to see facial hair.

It's the one thing I missed on my To Do / Done List and so yesterday when I ducked out to return a few things by mail I also picked up one of those shaver-y things. I fixed myself up last night and feel better...and no one else is any the wiser.

And I feel better, just because.

Check.