waxing

I’d like to make one thing clear: I didn’t want to wax the inside of my nose. 

My nose hairs have never bothered me. If anything, they’ve protected me from diseases and, even worse, loose boogers. But when one of my dearest friends (name redacted because I’d never put someone on blast for having basic human body hair — that’s just women supporting women) told me she didn’t want to wax her nostrils alone, what else could I do but volunteer as tribute?

The experience itself was surprisingly painless, but the results to follow were hindering and gross. Turns out nose hairs are there for a reason. The ultimately fruitless experience of waxing my nose holes made me wonder why women are expected to be hairless below the cheekbones. 

This isn’t a new phenomenon. “The Encyclopedia of Hair: A Cultural History,” by Victoria Sherrow, says ancient Egyptian women used seashell tweezers and beeswax. The Roman Empire had razors made of flint. In the Middle Ages, women removed their eyebrows with cat urine and vinegar, which accomplishes the impossible feat of making Nair look humane in comparison. 

There’s hope yet for my unapologetically hairy babes out there: Hair removal products have lost money since 2017. Sure, it’s still a multibillion-dollar market. We belong to a generation where women can shave their armpit hair or dye it purple, and that counts for something. Be it your legs, arms or genitals or head, your hair is your business. 

Regarding trends (I don’t mean to brag but I am a trendsetter at the U, who is technically unaffiliated with “Trendsetters at the U”), the only thing that’s definitely “out” is people who police other people’s body hair. And smelliness. Smelliness is, and will always be, out. And to anyone thinking about waxing the inside of their nose: Stock up on Kleenex first.