Hello, My Beauties,
I’m a Mama Bear when it comes to how folks see the inherent beauty in themselves and their bodies. So when I saw this tweet from Good Girl Gone Bad Podcast (@GGGBPodcast on Twitter), I growled my Mama Bear growl and gnashed my Mama Bear teeth in solidarity.
The story she’s referring to is new cringe-worthy garbage, not some late 90’s early 00’s nonsense. I can’t stop thinking about the issue of body hair, specifically pubic hair preferences.
I mean, aesthetics are subjective, right?
But when I think back farther than the barely-there landing strips I’ve seen in my recent porn travels, I realized that I rarely see women with pubic hair. Think about it, when was the last time you were checking out the Renaissance collection at a museum and saw a woman au naturel?
Which begs the question: is it a subjective preference if the dominant male gaze has told us (us being folks with vulvas) explicitly and implicitly, that hairy pussies are ugly?
Trends in body type and grooming come and go as with any type of fashion. They’re driven by culturally dominant archetypes and tend to enforce woefully unrealistic standards of beauty for everyone.
Folks with vulvas aren’t the only ones who have suffered from a perception that pubic hair is somehow dirty, uncouth and a sign of inexperience. But it seems like a bare pussy has been enforced through art, erotic or otherwise, for thousands of years.
Well, there was a brief moment in the 1970s where pubic hair was a political statement.
Feminists were taking back their body hair (problematic as some of those women were/are – yeah, Germaine Greer, I’m looking at you – transphobic jerk). Still, the moment was short-lived and didn’t survive the ultra-clean, frosty aesthetics of the 1980s.
Now I’m so used to seeing women shaved bare to almost bare it’s weird to see women, other than myself, with pubic hair.
Here’s a real-world example: We watch The Shining (1980) a lot in our house. It’s one of my go-to movies when my body isn’t cooperating. I find the isolating cold and descent into haunted madness comforting.
Don’t ask, that’s a blog post for another time.
Anyway, without fail, both Mr. Crispy (my beloved) and I shout out “70s bush!” when the ghostly tall-drink-of-water steps out of the bathtub naked. Because we’re just not used to media depicting women with hair.
Speaking of Mr. Crispy – he’s a fan of the bare look. But he’s clear that how I live in my skin is 100% my choice, and while he finds a shaved pussy fun to look at, nothing beats the beauty of my cunt. (He’s cringing right now because he HATES the word cunt. Heh. I love you, baby, sorry, not sorry)
See, I rock a full bush.
I’m not a fan of the upkeep or the look of a bare vulva on me. I keep the sides trimmed, but not to a fare-thee-well. Hair caught in the elastic on panties is an ouch-fest.
The hair on my mons and pubis is beautiful, even more since it turned almost entirely white. The sight of my body (when I’m not struggling with weight-related body dysmorphia) reminds me of an Elder Goddess. My body is full of life, abundant with pleasure, and steeped in an eon of experience. Soft. Wet. Welcoming.
The folks with vulvas that I’ve fucked and/or loved had their own preferences, which I respected and cherished.
For me, it boils down to a love of women’s bodies, including their vulvas, hair, or no.
The tender folds of flesh at their center and their salty-sweet musk, like fresh earth in the spring, is mouth-watering. And watching labia yield to a tongue or fingers, or a cock is stunning. The sight of slick shining on soft curls leaves me breathless.
No shade on shaving, though, if that’s your jam.
Again, visual aesthetics are deeply personal. I’m just saying we might want to think about where, as a culture/society, the popular aesthetics that dominate our art (erotic and otherwise) come from.
Why we like what we like is as important as what we want in the first place.
Regardless of whether you have a vulva and vagina or a cock and balls, how you look is your choice – and NO ONE has the right to imply or demand you change that without your explicit consent.
So says your Elder Goddess.
Be well, be wonderful, and above all be you,
Image Credit: Diana the Huntress, Giampietrino (Giovanni Pietro Rizzoli) (Italian, Milanese, active by ca. 1495–died 1553), Purchase, Mr. and Mrs. Frank E. Richardson Gift, 1989, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, www.metmuseum.org.