On the day before Rosemary Greenwood’s first wedding, in 1984, she sat in her backyard in the bright sunshine with a mirror and tweezers. For more than two hours he His hair was pulled from his face. “This is not the way most brides spend the day before their wedding,” said Greenwood, 69. She considered bringing up her struggles with facial hair with friends but never had the courage. “Pretending none of us had this issue, which of course was ridiculous. The silence made it embarrassing.”
That feeling of shame is more common than one might think. Although studies suggest that about half of women grow facial hair at some point in their lives, visible facial hair, whether it’s a few bristles on the chin, a dark mustache or unruly eyebrows that meet in between, is not normal. Culturally.
We continue to invent new and innovative ways to overcome it: the tiny Intense Pulsed Light machine (IPL) that promises a smooth and glowing face; dermplaning with the use of spray powder that can see every last hair; And epilators, which are as painful as they were in the 2000s.
While we’ve seen effective moves to normalize women’s body hair—it’s even featured in razor ads—women’s facial hair is often invisible and rarely discussed. Studies suggest that more than 80% of women are self-conscious about it, and, according to a 2014 survey, 3 out of 4 American women aged 18 to 34 remove it regularly.
Can our hardness ever change to remove it?
In a New York Times questionnaire, we asked female readers about their relationship with facial hair. About 900 responded.
A brief history
Women with facial hair have been documented throughout history, often in ways that make current attitudes look modest. (Take, for example, Annie Jones, PT Barnum’s bearded lady, who was billed as a “freak” in his circus—a term Jones objected to.) Explored in the Bates College book “Plucked: A History of Hair Removal.” Professor Rebecca Herzig, Western scientists in the 19th century used female facial hair to reinforce the perception of whiteness. supremacy It was associated with pathology and madness, decadence and the “inferior race”.
Recent scholarship, such as “The Last Taboo: Women and Body Hair,” edited by Karin Lesnick-Oberstein, a professor in the Department of English Literature at the University of Reading, highlights the pressure women often face to conform to particulars. Beauty standards under a patriarchal society. By the 20th century, the number of women regularly removing body or facial hair increased, and today, according to many studies, nearly all women remove it at some point in their lives.
For her book “Unsaved: Resistance and Removal in Women’s Body Hair Politics,” Arizona State University women’s and gender studies professor Breanne Fahs interviewed many women who embraced their pubic, underarm, and leg hair, dubbing them “body hair rebels.” . .” But, she added, facial hair “was the limit to what they could rebel against.”
“That’s really telling, isn’t it?” she said.
One respondent to the Times questionnaire, 25-year-old Claire Minter, went one step further: “Women, I think, have different standards for each other about what is feminine and what is modern, and I can definitely see that facial hair is one type. Another frontier.”
There is statistical evidence that American women of certain races and ethnicities have more facial hair. (Lisa Sorgini/The New York Times)
Hormones are a factor
Facial hair in women is often associated with polycystic ovary syndrome, a complex hormonal disorder that affects 8% to 12% of “reproductive-age” women worldwide and can cause excess facial or body hair. Women with PCOS sometimes respond to testosterone, as do all women, in specific ways. “The testosterone they have is free and it makes hair grow,” said endocrinologist Dr Helena Tiede of Monash University in Australia.
Embarrassment can extend to hair removal, be it plucking, shaving, waxing, threading, IPL, laser or electrolysis.
Another respondent, Sheryl Martinez, 67, said, “The thought of actually shaving makes me sick and makes me want to cry.” “I must have had 100 electrolysis sessions over the last 40 years, which I found helpful but not permanent. I schedule these appointments ‘secretly’ from my husband Because of my shame.”
While laser hair removal can significantly reduce hair growth for many people, electrolysis, which dates back to the 19th century, is the only permanent form of hair removal, but it can be ineffective because hormone changes cause new hair growth.
An disproportionate burden
There is statistical evidence that American women of certain races and ethnicities have more facial hair. Women of South Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, Black, and Mediterranean descent have been shown to have more facial hair than women of some other backgrounds—probably because markers such as serum testosterone vary by race—without necessarily being a hormonal disorder.
As a member of a minority group, having facial hair can feel difficult, especially growing up. “As a young girl who was only one of two Indians in her predominantly white school, it was devastating when friends would laugh and draw attention to my ‘moustache’. I was already different,” said 48-year-old Radhika Mulgaonkar. Although she still hates her mustache, she added that her two daughters, 15 and 17, are “perfectly comfortable” with their facial hair (as is she).
For many, the difficulties begin at an early age. Elizabeth Dollhop-Brown, 46, started growing facial hair at the age of 12. “It was terrible. I was called horrible names through high school and would find pictures in my locker as a gorilla,” she said.
Since childhood, facial hair can be an important part of gender expression for LGBTQ+ individuals, but can also cause discomfort and dysphoria. “As a transgender woman I had to undergo several hours of laser and electrolysis to remove facial hair,” said 55-year-old Adin Seskin. “Good riddance.”
Others said they found a connection to their culture through their facial hair. “I have a mustache, but it’s not a bush. I love it. I’m Latina,” said Sylvia Hayes, 66. “All the women in my family have mustaches, so at a young age I learned that it’s part of our culture, our look, our DNA. Admitted. When I was in my 30s, a male friend told me it was sexy.
Age plays a role
Many women begin to struggle with new facial hair growth later in life or during menopause. Some said they had promised friends or relatives to cut their hair for them if they ended up in a hospital or care facility. “We made a deal: When we were old and perhaps unable to take care of ourselves, we each made sure that the hair ugliness was not noticed in the other,” said Debbie Russell, 68.
But there is also the possibility of finding peace with age. “To me, my facial hair feels like part of my gender identity, and after menopause I now have a little goatee, which I shave off,” said Mitzi Cowell, 60, “but I dream of the day when I can grow it out. this time.”
What’s next?
This century, a A change of sorts has occurred Around the standards of the female body. The month of January (the community’s official Instagram account has 42,000 followers) has seen several movements like “Janahairi” encouraging women to grow their body hair, including facial hair. The 2023 French film “Rosalie,” which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, featured a bearded female protagonist. “I invented the story of a young woman who frees herself by embracing her beard,” said the film’s director, Stephanie Di Gusto. “With Rosalie’s beard, I wanted to reinvent femininity.”
While Fahs admits that “the expectation of conformity is very strong,” being embarrassed or embarrassed around facial hair is not a given. Women have found outlets for self-expression among feminist and LGBTQ+ communities where they feel comfortable showing and growing their facial hair.
These changes have been slow but changing the way some women view femininity. “I’ve come to realize that facial hair is just as much a part of being a woman,” Minter said.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.