There are few things that prove as irksome to me and my existence as a college-age, self-identified feminist than the frequency with which I encounter casual sexism—or, in layperson’s terms, the myriad of day-to-day things in our culture that may appear “innocent” and “cute” on the surface, but upon closer examination are fraught with assumptions and expectations of women’s and men’s roles in society. No Shave November is a perfect example of this pervasiveness of casual sexism in our culture.
Although at face value the celebration of the ability to grow body hair is not something that has the constitution of a necessarily pressing news or editorial piece, nor is it something that I particularly want to spend my time lamenting about.
The fact that it has become somewhat of a landmark of college life and part of discussions I’ve heard around campus, the insidious offensiveness with which No Shave November is carried out begs to be brought out into the light.
According to the “official” website for No Shave November, “Everyone, young and old, male and female can participate in No-Shave-November by following…[a] calendar of guidelines.” The guidelines that follow consist of a chronological ordering of events—events highlighting that, although women and girls are included in this arguably masculinized activity, they remain forever an add-on, an addition to the norm of “manhood.” For instance, on Nov. 14, supposedly, “finally the men don’t look ridiculous [and] finally the women look ridiculous.” The gendered way in which body hair is approached and viewed in our society is inherently problematic, primarily for the fact that, for men, body hair is a sign of matured masculinity; for women, hair of any kind—except for the socially acceptable full head of luscious hair—is seen as an unacceptable sign of laziness and just downright “disgusting.”
Women’s physical appearance, as made apparent through mainstream media, Photoshop, lists of celebrity “who’s hot, who’s not,” and the plethora of makeover shows specifically geared towards women—is a site of constant public policing and criticism. A woman is either too thin, too fat, too girly or not feminine enough. In regards to body hair, women are alternately supposed to care about their appearance (by spending time, money, and energy on the application of cosmetics, lotions, and “proper” fashion) while at the same time appearing as if they have spent no time at all on looking “made up.” This is precisely due to the fact that femininity—indeed gender more broadly—is assumed to be natural. However, upon closer examination, it becomes clear that which we perceive as natural (inherent lack of body hair in women, inherent strength in men) is hardly “natural” at all, but something that requires hours, indeed lifetimes, of work and meticulous preparation.
No Shave November, as “inclusive” as it attempts to be, only further perpetuates gendered notions regarding what is acceptable in regards to physical appearance, and for whom. Although it has the potential to raise awareness surrounding (mis)perceptions of “proper” femininity and masculinity, its goal is clearly not quite so political, nor thought out.
Despite its misogynist overtones, women who participate in the strange ritual that constitutes masculinity with how large your beard is are participating in a subversive act—one that, by its very nature of being “out of the norm,” brings attention to the ways in which beauty is constructed in our society, and the double standard that women face daily in regards to their physical appearance.
And so hopefully, one day in the feminist utopia that exists solely in some abstract ideal in my mind, we can all move past the middle school fascination with body hair and policing people’s personal choices when it comes to their physical appearances. Hair is hair after all, and remains merely hair, regardless—indeed, perhaps in spite of—gender.
Hannah Walker can be contacted at hwalker@keene-equinox.com.