Monday, February 21, 2011

An open letter.

Dear readers,
the following post might be one of my most personal yet.
In fact,
so personal that I might freak you out for life.
Still,
I know there will be those out there who will appreciate my honesty and even relate.
Here goes...

I have a confession;
I'm hairy.

Yes,
hairy.
I'm not talking some peach fuzz here and there,
I'm talking Chia Pet furry.
There is not one place on my body that does not have hair.
Wait!
Lies!
The bottoms of my hands and feet are hairless,
but really that's about it.

Even the little places where you wouldn't assume there would be hair are hairy.
Such as;
in between my chest,
the piece of skin right about my knuckles and right under my nails (yeah),
my cheeks,
the area that connects my sideburns to my actual hair on my head,
the tops of my feet,
and my booty.

Yes,
I have a furry booty.
I can sweep the floor with my booty should you ever need the extra broom.

I got the fur from my eclectic mix of ethnicity's,
but in my family I win.
Hands down,
I am the furriest of the bunch.
Neither of my siblings are even remotely hairy!
In fact,
should our family ever have an opening song to our lives
I would be introduced as the one with fur,
not curls.

I never really noticed the fur until grade school.
Everyone gets made fun of as a child.
Everyone.
And my go to target was my hair.
I sported a uni brow,
furry arms,
furry legs
and a mustache everyday at school,
and my peers loved to remind me about it.

I inherited,
what I credit as the most genius of all mean nick names,
the title " Queen Kong".
Oh yeah,
Genius, I know.
I lived it.

And just like any other kid would,
I created a sever complex over my hair.
I went form being completely oblivious to my fur,
to absolutely obsessed with getting rid of it.
I begged my mother every day to let me shave,
and like a good mom,
she never did.
The one time I did sneak a razor though,
lives forever in my mothers memory.
The day before our family portraits
one of those smart kids decided to poke fun at my eyebrows.
So I came home,
snuck my dads razor,
and shaved off half my eyebrow.

Good times.

After this,
my mother decided to become more lenient on her "hair removal" rule.
I mean,
you can't blame her,
I was obviously going to take decisions into my own hands.

So I started shaving.
Everything.
Everyday.
Yes,
everyday.
Cause see,
when you're furry your body knows nothing else.
And that fur grows back with a vengeance!
I have a 5 o clock shadow on my legs by 2:30.
Goosebumps,
are the end of me.
With this Speedy Gonzalez type hair also comes...
the ingrown.
I have had ingrowns everywhere.
Sexy, I know,
but true!
Ingrowns galore!!
And to add on to the drama,
I am an olive skinned lady.
So the amount of melanin in me leaves sweet little ingrown scars everywhere.
Yay!
I am a leopard of the human kind.

So then I started an obsession with all hair removal products.
I wanted all of this hair gone forever,
and I would do anything to get rid of it.
Creams, waxing, shaving, rubbing, bleaching, threading, medication,
even home made milkshakes that promised hairless skin.
I tried it all!

I became unhealthily obsessive over the fact that I was furry.
I never saw hair on anyone in the commercial world,
and even in the past when I at least saw a few hairy arms,
I can promise you that those definitely aren't around today.

Last year,
I was given the opportunity to receive my first laser hair removal treatments.
I was so excited.
I thought to myself,
this is it.
The end.
The end of everything.
I was scheduled for treatments on the bottom halves of my legs
and underarms.
The day of my first treatment,
I sat in that waiting room the first time with such anxiety.
I did my research,
I knew that having strong melanin in my skin was risky under a laser,
but I was desperate and willing.

Before the laser treatments,
the nurses put a numbing cream on the designated areas the laser will be hitting.
To my surprise the numbing cream didn't seem to work when I found myself getting lasered and begging the nurse to stop so I could compose myself after such pain.
I pushed through the pain
and after what felt like hours,
I looked at my mom and said "never again".
But,
since i was still so insecure about the fuzz,
I went back.
Only this time,
the waiting room was a bit different.

This time I sat waiting for the torture,
with three other women.
I could see the cream on their designated areas.
All of us sat in silence,
as the TV blasted celebrity gossip channels
and commercial magazines were spread about for all of us to read.

One woman had her upper lip creamy,
the other her under eyes,
and the other her arms.
(Usually in these laser places they do more than just hair.
They promise you wrinkly free skin, or face lifts as well.)

While staring at these women,
I began to question what I was doing.
I was staring at all of them thinking;
"Whats wrong with them? They're all so beautiful, they look great. What's the big deal?"
But it was all hypocritical.
I was so insecure about my fur that I was going out of my way to injure myself
just so I could fit in.
I had been doing it my whole life.
Every ingrown,
scar,
cut,
and rash
were all representations of this.
Of how much I hated my hair,
my body,
my self.
How could I believe in loving ones self,
and every little bit of you,
and be doing such a painful thing to my body?

I left the office that day and promised myself I would never go back again.

I promised myself that I would look in the mirror,
accept myself for what I had and love it.

This post isn't a personal opinion on hair removal,
but instead an open love letter to myself.
Yes,
I am hairy.
I am really hairy.
Yes,
I've allowed myself to let the hair on my lower back grow
(cause it's adorable),
and have a happy trail visit me every once and a while,
because it's part of me!

It doesn't define me,
it is merely decoration.

I do still wax sometimes,
just for comfort levels and sweat reasons
(Hairy girls sweat more. Fact)
but I know I'm at a place now where I'm not doing it because I hate myself for it.

It took a while to get here,
but I'm so happy to finally have found the beauty in myself and my fur.
And for those of you who aren't furry,
maybe you can relate to the fact that we all have some sort of complex.
Some sort of ridiculous complex that is really just huge in our heads.
Maybe you can learn to love it.
I mean,
god forbid you love something about yourself, right?

And for those of you who are furry and on the verge of loving the fur,
and feel like others might hate it,
Fuck them.

I wonder what they look like naked.

Never let those people get in the way of making you feel pretty.
Ever.

All my love,
and fur,
Natalya

The ultimate inspiration.
Ms. Khalo.

7 comments:

  1. as a moderately hairy girl i must say i LOVE this post.

    happy trails, hairy pits, hairy arms, and hairy legs forever.

    i was destined for hariy-ness the moment my parents decided to name me Harriet.

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  2. hair on you skin in some countries is a sign of beauty.

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  3. Plastic America does not know what beauty is.

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  4. I do not care what anybody says I love my peach fuss on my body.

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  5. I myself can't stand shaving. but still do maintain from time to time. I also feel that some women can rock the fuzzy look waaaaaaaaaaay better than others. I have seen women who look downright HOT! with mustaches & underarm hair & hairy legs, but I have also seen women who just can't seem to make it work for them no matter what. I think everyone should do what makes them feel comfotable, but I also think that you should be respectful. So, the way I shouldnt pass judgement on people who are hairy should also apply to not passing judgement on people who choose to shave. because let me tell you, I have met some seriously self-righteous fuzzy bitches& that shit is ANNOYING.

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  6. Respect is the key word here!

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