It's gonna get sappy up in here.
I’ve been single for an aeon now and freelance for just over two years, and the thing about being a single freelance writer is that you really have a lot of time to think. Case in point - recently I’ve become rather preoccupied with the issue of pubes; specifically the possible resurgence of the ‘70s bush – both personally and in wider society. Thus far I have always taken the following approach to mine; single celibate times = full bush, sexy times = anything from a polite trim to a Hollywood.
Yes, over the years I’ve waxed with the best of them, and have jumped on every bikini line bandwagon going (although I did draw the line when I was once offered to have my muff waxed into the shape of a heart and dyed red). In fact I’ve probably spent more on pre-date waxes than all my dates together have spent on taking me out (in fact, scrap the probably – definitely) – which is a slightly depressing thought. Recently, though, I’ve been feeling a longing to end this charade; stop the waxing and panic shaves, and just embrace the bush.
The reasons for this are threefold: 1. Although the immediate post-wax days are fantastic and make you feel like a nubile horny sex beast, the grow-back period in the weeks after are less comfortable and visually appealing. 2. I’ve developed a sudden appreciation for the sexual tastes of the 1970s – the sheer lace negligee, the natural boobs, and of course The Bush. 3. Waxing ain’t cheap.
The one thing holding me back from fully embracing the full-time full-bush thus far has been my apprehension as to what dates might think. I know as a modern woman I’m not meant to give a hoot about what men think or want, but well, I do - at least when it comes to the bedroom (I’m not sure if this better or worse than caring about what they think in say the living room or the kitchen?).
So although I’m basically ready to throw out the shears and let my lady garden grow free as nature intended, I don’t really want to be known as ‘Si of the jungle’ or ‘Machete’ (a nickname given to a girl my friend went to uni with after her ex boyfriend told everyone that you 'needed one to get in there' – nice).
So with time on my hands and a total disregard for the usual confines of polite conversation, I decided to ask all the boys I knew what they thought (in general terms of course, not specifically about my pubes – that really would have been crossing a line).
In an attempt to be scientific and keep embarrassment to a minimum I simply asked for a number from 1 – 10 (1 being couldn’t care less, 10 being would kick a girl with a bush out of bed). I then baked the answers into a pubey pie chart (just as impressive as anything you saw on The Great British Bake Off I like to think, and of course far less calorific):
So what does my fantastically unscientific survey tell us? Well as you can see, by far the largest slice of the pie belongs to the ‘pruned is expected’ brigade, otherwise known as the number 7’s; a result that shocked and depressed me in equal measures.
It also leaves me with the following dilemma; continue with my one-woman crusade to resurrect the ‘70s bush (and potentially scare off suitors), or resign myself to a life of waxing, plucking and utterly ineffective exfoliation…(of course there’s always secret option 3 – woo them with my Brazilian, then once they’re trapped in my love spell unleash The Amazon).
The real disappointment is that I was always under the (apparently naïve) impression that men weren’t so picky; that they just liked sex and that silly things like pubic hairdos were just frivolous distractions. I liked that about them.
I liked the idea that men saw through the superficial bullshit. But now I go and find that some men, the majority of men if my surveyette is to be believed, are pube-intolerant pernickety pricks for whom the thought of a real woman in her natural state is just too much ‘realness’ for their little libidos to handle.
It wasn’t so much their desire for a woman to have minimal pubic hair that riled me (after all, I’ve played the pubeless game in the past and know the appeal), but it was the fact so many of them expected and demanded it that really pissed me off. I got comments such as, ‘I think a lady should always take care of the bush and bikini line and not make it a habit to wait for it to grow out of control’, and ‘No grass, or little grass is accepted. Key requirement is for the garden to be neat and tidy’. Who did they think they were to dictate how another adult should care for their body, or to set such limits on beauty or sexuality?
I’m really not a man-basher, but some of the replies – from men I consider good friends – made me want to jump through my phone and kick them in the balls. When was the last time anyone mentioned the state of their pubes… or back hair or receding hairlines for that matter, yet they’re allowed to make us feel like undesirable heifers if our bikini lines don’t resemble the fucking gardens of Versailles? When did this pube fascism begin? Can we blame men, or do we need to look a little closer to home at the likes of SATC (who introduced many of us to the Brazilian).
What’s more, how come back in the ‘70s women were considered sexy with luscious bushes of pubes yet nowadays anything more than a few wisps of hair is considered an embarrassment? Of course not all men were so provincial in their outlook. 35% (i.e. 7/20 guys surveyed) were 5’s or below, with one particularly wise gent adding, ‘I really don’t understand the obsession with hair elimination. Any sensible chap will be able to work with all sorts of hairstyles. It’s what’s inside that counts’. Well put I say (and sorry ladies, yes, he’s already taken)!
So what do you think? Are you surprised by the results of the survey? Do you too long for a return to the days when pubes meant power? And what number would you want your guy to say? Personally I’m looking for a 5 or under; I think there’s something really sexy about a man who doesn’t care about that kind of thing.
If you ask me sex is meant to be free and natural and rough around the edges; I can’t help thinking a man who cares that much about my pubes would be missing the point. After all, in the words of a good friend who shall remain nameless, pussy is pussy.