I am an 80 year old man.

As a woman, I have been trained [by society, family, and hair dressers] to rid myself of unwanted facial hair. I have plucked and waxed my eyebrows religiously in fear of the possible unibrow, waxed my lip despite the searing pain, and embarrassingly enough, plucked stray chin or cheek hairs that may have had the courage to take purchase on my face. It is a daily ritual that I have come to accept as a fact of life... or a fact of my life at least.

Every morning there are a few more that I had either missed the day before, or that decided to stage a revolution and grow exponentially within a mere couple of hours. It is an everyday battle for a woman at my level of hairy. The possible titles for my memoir include: 'Bearded Lady Converts Thousands', 'Woman Studied at MIT for Unbelievable Facial Hair Gene', and 'New Model for Rogaine is Female'. Maybe I could become a therapist for other women going through this. I know they exist. We could create a support group, rally behind a cure, take donations for a laser hair removal fund, make t-shirts that exclaim "with beardy" for our significant others, or maybe invest in a lifetime supply of nair. I firmly believe that there could be safety and acceptance in numbers.

Anyway, back to my own personal nightmare... It was a blissful Thursday morning while putting on my makeup in my daylight mirror (my biggest critic that uses a 10x magnifier and the light of truth to warn me of any embarrassing stray hairs loitering upon my oily face) and that's when I spotted it: A hair. Blonde and exceedingly long in length. "It couldn’t possibly be attached… no, it’s from my hair… the actual hair that is supposed to reside on my head… it has to be..." I told myself in denial. I gathered air into my lungs as I caught the stray hair with my finger tips and exhaled slowly as I pulled it outward searching for the root…

Yes, it was indeed attached. Attached to my earlobe... a first for me. It seemed that overnight (not overnight, I had to have been cultivating that sucker for sometime) I had turned into an 80 year old man with hairy ears. This is what I had been training for. I was Rocky and I had come to the foot of the stairs. I squared my shoulders and told myself all is not lost… even though I firmly believed otherwise… I got out my trusty tweezers and pulled. Hard. (For future knowledge, that area is extremely sensitive and it HURTS.) Next, I did the only rational thing I could and checked my other ear. Regretfully, I found and plucked it’s mate.

I am proud to say that I am [momentarily] ear hair free. Tomorrow I will be checking my toes, knuckles, and nose because that also comes with turning 80... right?

When I was your age,

Jessica


P.S. Dear men: if you don't believe women work this hard to remain free of facial hair, I’m deeply sorry to have spoiled your ignorance.

Hashtag No Filter.