Everyone has heard of No-Shave November. It started as a cancer awareness and fundraising event put on by a group called No-Shave November; this year’s funds go to the American Cancer Society. The social event has since morphed into a colloquialism labeling the time of year when dudes turn into lumberjacks (or try to) and ladies neglect their razors thanks to cold winds and long pants.

I’m not someone who has ever really stopped shaving. I was a swimmer ever since I was in elementary school. I started shaving everything from the neck down before I hit puberty in order to be like my swimming role models. Afterwards, I still continued to shave, though not to that extent. My legs are usually shiny. My armpits are usually smooth.

In the winter, this usually doesn’t let up as I continue to swim — though for meditation, not medals. It is expected that I keep my stubble under control.

Buy why is it expected? I’ve seen plenty of men, who may as well be wearing sweaters, swimming. For us women, keeping our body hair “under control” is expected, despite the fact that there is no reason to shave our armpits or legs. As a swimmer, when I was actually competing and not just emulating my heroes, keeping myself hairless shaved seconds off of my times. But now that I’m not worried about beating other swimmers to the wall, I shouldn’t need to be shaving anymore.

Armpit hair isn’t unsanitary or smelly (assuming deodorant and antiperspirant is used), otherwise men would be shaving their pits too. Smooth legs are a beauty standard that started thanks to hemlines creeping up in the early 1900s. We are bombarded with myths about pubic hair being unsanitary when the opposite is true (it keeps germs and other nasty, yucky things out of the sensitive environment that is the vulva).

To switch gears rather quickly, let me tell you about my friend and her boyfriend. She mentioned to her boyfriend that she was friends with a feminist (me). His reaction: “So, are you going to stop shaving now, or what?” He wasn’t kidding.

This is a common misconception about feminists — that they refuse to embrace what is culturally labeled as “feminine.” Being a feminist, according to this ideology, means no dresses, no lipstick and no razors.

Feminism, or at least my brand, is about personal choice. There should be no different reaction to a woman with hairy pits than to a women with smooth pits. The expectation that women keep their genitals completely hairless is absurd, and frankly more than a bit pedophilic. Cultural expectations of beauty should not affect how a person is treated.

Sure, I like my legs smooth. I like the way it feels. I don’t like that I skip the gym when I didn’t have time to shave due to fear of judgement. My swimsuit doesn’t exactly help cover up stubble. In removing my body hair, I am buying into the cultural expectation of women maintaining their “beauty.” Shaving should be a personal choice, done because of the way it makes you feel.

Think about the way men treat their body hair — they don’t shave their legs, a hairy chest isn’t looked down upon (though, admittedly, smooth chests are rising) and beards are a playground when it comes to fashion and masculinity. Why is it different for women? I argue that it’s because we are culturally expected to maintain ourselves to a certain aesthetic standards. This happens for men too, but not on nearly the scale it does women.

So I’m doing what I’m calling a “Feminist No-Shave November.” I’m not raising money (though if you want to participate in the No-Shave November cancer awareness movement, please do!), but putting myself through a personal test.

I place way too much importance on my body hair and how everyone around me sees it. It’s time for me to reclaim my body for myself.

My hope is no one will care when they see my hairy armpits in yoga class or my unshaven legs at the pool. My fear is that they will. It is my fear that is driving me to do this though; it’s my body and my choice. And you have a choice too in this challenge I’ve placed for myself — the choice of how to react when you see my hairy pits in all their glory.

Kjerstine Trooien is a staff writer for The Dakota Student. She can be reached at [email protected].