Further Memoirs of a Hippie Chick

I went for quite a few years in my hippy days without shaving my legs. Why? Freedom … Laziness … Rebellion … who knows? However, I will never forget my mother telling me over the phone that I would have to shave to be a bridesmaid in my brother’s wedding. It was kind of embarrassing to be in a position where my mother felt it necessary to even bring it up, but at the same time, it totally proved that I was indeed a legitimate and recognized “hippie chick”. It had to be true if even my mother noticed. And I did shave, for my brother, my mom, without a fuss. It was my gift toward my brother’s marital bliss.

Although once I arrived in Missouri and saw the bridesmaid dresses, I realized it was totally a moot point. It was a long pastel blue sun dress with a very wide ruffle ~ the width of the bodice in fact, but demurely off the shoulder. Which I remember distinctly because my mother also insisted on taking me shopping for a strapless bra, even as I argued that the design of the dress completely camouflaged the fact that I had any girl parts that needed to be covered up. However, as part of my “hippie chick” dress code, I often went braless, and my mother was taking no chances. So much preparation for such a momentous day; I was scraped clean, my mother was happy and the bride and groom were blissfully ignorant of my sacrifice.

At some point after several hours into the wedding reception, drinking and dancing the night away, I found myself in the bathroom one stall away from my sister. My very important strapless bra had worked its way down around my waist and was nestled below my ribcage. We were laughing hard as I confessed that I had no idea what to do with it, it would be much more comfortable wrapped around my neck as a stole. Would anyone, beside my mother, notice? We decided to just let it be. We left the bathroom with tears in our eyes, probably presumed to be sentimental sisters of the groom! Only the tips of my toes were visible under the long hem, I can only hope that I remembered to shave them.

* annette

Hair, Hair, Hair

I didn’t regularly shave my legs until I was 50 years old. Because I never shaved, the hair was bleached from time in the summer sun. My legs always felt smooth—no growing-out stubble and no tiny cuts from the razor blade. It saved time too.

When I became single again, it was time for a bit of a makeover and that was part of it—shaving my legs. My teenaged daughter cheered me on. “Mom, razors have really advanced since you were a teen. Try it—it’s not so bad.”

So I bought a package of pink plastic Venus razors with disposable heads-- so much for my dedication to the environment. I smeared some shaving cream on and began the gentle scraping. It did feel much better than in the 60’s.

I also noticed that my leg hair didn’t grow as quickly as it had in my teens. In those days I had to shave daily to keep up with it. Now, every few days suffices. I began to enjoy the feeling of my legs sans hair.

This winter, after several years of marriage, I’ve let myself go a bit. I let my leg hair grow, since my legs are mostly covered in the cold weather. But recently I noticed a slight snagging sensation around my ankles due to my socks snuggling against the longer hair and pulling on it. I guess I was used to it all those years without shaving, but now it’s driving me crazy. And the long hairs are almost black.

In ten days I’m taking a trip to the Cozumel beach. I’ll be shaving again soon to enjoy that smooth sensation and hairless look. I never thought that I, feminist Terra, would enjoy being me, femme Terra.

Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair, Hair

I didn’t regularly shave my legs until I was 50 years old. Because I never shaved, the hair was bleached from time in the summer sun. My legs always felt smooth—no growing-out stubble and no tiny cuts from the razor blade. It saved time too.

When I became single again, it was time for a bit of a makeover and that was part of it—shaving my legs. My teenaged daughter cheered me on. “Mom, razors have really advanced since you were a teen. Try it—it’s not so bad.”

So I bought a package of pink plastic Venus razors with disposable heads-- so much for my dedication to the environment. I smeared some shaving cream on and began the gentle scraping. It did feel much better than in the 60’s.

I also noticed that my leg hair didn’t’ grow as quickly as it had in my teens. In those days I had to shave daily to keep up with it. Now, every few days suffices. I began to enjoy the feeling of my legs sans hair.

This winter, after several years of marriage, I’ve let myself go a bit. I let my leg hair grow, since my legs are mostly covered in the cold weather. But recently I noticed a slight snagging sensation around my ankles due to my socks snuggling against the longer hair and pulling on it. I guess I was used to it all those years without shaving, but now it’s driving me crazy. And the long hairs are almost black.

In 10 days I’m taking a winter trip to the Cozumel beach. I’ll be shaving again soon to again enjoy that smooth sensation and unhairy look. I never thought that I, feminist Terra, would enjoy being me, femme Terra.

--by Terra Rafael