Wild...hair

"The hair is the richest ornament of women." Martin Luther

This spring, I stopped shaving my armpits.  This may come as no surprise to many of you who have tolerated my unshaved legs all these years.  I have a history of feeling like I need to challenge this social norm.  It all started when I was in 7th grade, and an older girl asked me why I don't shave my legs.

It hadn't occurred to me that I needed to, and never seemed to make any sense once I started doing it.

I was told by a boy in high school that he would never date a girl who didn't shave her legs.  I thought that was sad and shallow.  Then, I noticed he was much less attractive than I'd previously thought.

It was the 80s and everyone knew that European women didn't shave.  I saw a photo of a German supermodel that proved this was true.  I was determined to be more European.  I was a runner so I got outside a lot.  In the summer the sun would bleach my leg hair, and I knew I looked a little bit like that German supermodel.  If I shaved, it would come back dark and coarse, and my legs would be itchy all the time.  Without the hair, my skin felt lifeless and numb

I had conversations with an older, more affluent peer about how her mom was bribing her to go to the salon to get her legs waxed.  Her mother had had enough of her hairy legs.  I'd never heard of waxing, but it sounded godawful.  She was considering taking the bribe, because her mom was really making it worth it.

And then, in college I gave speeches about body hair in my communications 101 class.  I recall I made some weak statements about hairless Egyptian priests being nutty and 3000 years later we're still acting crazy.  I tended to think that I inspired other women to give up the razor blade.  Lots of valid reasons were given in those days.  It's a waste of resources.  It's oppressive, compulsive and obsessive.  It's nonsense.  It objectifies women and is a construct of a male-run society.  Then, I'd go home over breaks and my own mother would tell me how she had had enough of my hairy legs.

But I never realized fully why women shaved at all, except that society told them to and they agreed.  Even now, after all these years of not having consistently shaved legs,  I'm still not entirely at ease with it.  I cover it up, I trim it back, I wish it wasn't so dark. But why?  What is compelling me to agree with society?

Then, this spring, I decided to grow my armpit hair, too.  I've done this before, but I always kept it hidden. I've exposed myself, and now I suddenly get it.  I know why women are pressured to go to such lengths to rid ourselves of our hair.  The epiphany came to me in the form of a little boy who spied my armpits.

"Ew!" he said.  "I saw your armpit!  And it was HAIRY."  His face was squished with disgust.

I said, "All women have hair under their arms. It's normal." Then, he pretended to punch me.  And then, he pretended to shoot me.  And then, he refused to speak to me any more.

After thinking about this a while, I realized on a deeper level than I had ever conceived before that this double-standard hair paradigm is really a bad deal for women.  Women are not supposed to show the world through body hair that they are anything but pre-pubescent.  And, if they expose any secondary sex characteristics that aren't acceptable, they are rejected, pressured to change, made to feel unattractive and even shamed or shunned, threatened, or battered.  Body hair is considered a strictly masculine attribute, and only for "butch" women, even though every single healthy woman on the planet grows hair on their entire body, except for the palms of their hands and feet.  Having hair follicles doesn't say anything about you, except that you're human and you have hormones like everyone else.

Unfortunately for those of you who can't stomach my hairy legs and my braidable pits, your disdain for the hair fuels my stubborn opinion that you're misguided.  I will not tell anyone that they need to stop shaving.  It's every individual's right to make these personal choices.  I am going to keep fighting the voices in my head that want me to go along with the crowd, and correcting the real voices who are telling me I am wrong.

Age before Health and Beauty

As I walked up to a girlfriend, she was finishing up a conversation with another woman, who had just handed her a box of something that looked like fancy lotion.  A tall, slender box with silvery lettering.

"Use it for a week and then give it back to me," the woman said to my friend.  

"What is that, some kind of wrinkle cream?" I asked.

The woman fluttered her eyelashes and said, "Anything we can do to help get rid of those wrinkles.

Smoking Man in Beauty Shop
Nationaal Archief/Spaarnestad Photo
Flickr Commons

I'm actually only 23, can't you tell?"  And she flitted away, saying, "Just bring it back next week!"

"Oh dear," I thought to myself.  "Another woman trying to hold back the clock."

"Yeah," said my friend, as she opened the container to reveal a very fancy dispenser.  "It's night time wrinkle cream."  Then she lowered her voice, "I'm just helping her out with her business."

"I love my wrinkles.  They're beautiful!" I declared.  "I'm not going to stop aging any time soon, and the wrinkles are just going to keep coming.  What happens if I hate my wrinkles when I'm old?  I'll just hate myself."

My friend shoved the fancy dispenser back into the box as her husband walked up on the conversation.  "Wrinkles are good," he said.

Well there you have it.

Quantifiable beauty?

 Beauty contest in Turkey.
Men admiring participants beauty contest.
 Flickr Commons

Let's get something straight right now.  I can measure my height, weight, cholesterol, heart rate, blood pressure, and a large number of things that might tell me how healthy or fit I am.  I can count how many years I have been alive, and I my age is increasing at the exact same rate as every other living being's.  But no matter how hard I might try, I can not measure how beautiful I am.  Are we talking inner beauty or outer beauty here?  It doesn't matter.  Nobody has, nor will anyone ever build a foolproof, objective system for measuring beauty--beauty pageant judges included.

So why does society equate age, weight, health and numerous measurable things with something that can not be measured?  There is no logic behind it, other than oppression.  It is the driving force behind societal ills such as scientific racism, where body measurements have been used as justification for genocide, forced sterilization, internment, apartheid, slavery and other expressions of racism.  Equating beauty to age and health is society's way of building a false hierarchy of humanity.  I reject this dominant paradigm, and I invite you liberate yourself from it, too.

In the aching back, clogged arteries, and wrinkled eye of the beholder

The best connection I can see between beauty and the quantifiable is that our perception of ourselves,

 May, 1960.
Fern Derstine combs Mary Schlegel's hair.
Mennonite Board of Missions.
Illinois
Flickr Commons

our self-worth, can impact our health and aging process.  It has been shown in studies that increased pride in one's identity increases overall health.  If someone fails to perceive their own beauty, they will be unhappy with themselves and their health will decline, and health factors associated with age may become more apparent.

There is no standard for beauty beyond self-identification of it.  The one truth in beauty is that it is immeasurable.  If I choose to believe that I am beautiful, I define "beauty," therefore it is true that I am beautiful.  If others see me differently, their views are irrelevant and wrong.  The good news is that I will likely pass on my good looks to my kids, and also my healthy outlook.

Skin deep

What about all that inner beauty business?  Are people who love themselves for who they are the meanies and bullies of the world?  I mean, yeah you can read all about how school bullies are just climbing the social ladder and they don't necessarily come from abusive homes or have low self-esteem.  But really, come on.  It's insecurity that causes people to wrong others.  Jealousy, greed, and unkindness aren't born of self-love.  They may be born of megalomania, but that is arguably an overdose of self-esteem, or overcompensation for self-hatred.

Bully Suicide Project campaign
for Campus Harmony, Inc.
photographed by Fashion photographer Tracy Nanthavongsa.

So I say go ahead and love those wrinkles.  Let your hair go gray.  See it, live it, love it.  Overweight?  Still beautiful.  Fighting cancer?  You're gorgeous.  Did someone along the way say otherwise?  They were not speaking a truth.

The Paradox of Love and Hate, Gay and Straight

Today I read a blog that said, essentially, "If you're gay, I love you, and God loves you.  There's nothing wrong with being gay, just don't ACT gay and you'll be free from THAT sin, and then I can trust you around my kids."

She quoted the Bible, of course.  You may have heard this passage used as a weapon against gay people before:

1 Corinthians 6:9-11 Those who indulge in sexual sin, or who worship idols, or commit adultery, or are male prostitutes, or practice homosexuality, or are thieves, or greedy people, or drunkards, or are abusive, or cheat people--none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God.

Other than saying that this snippet of the Bible, taken out of historical context, is an incorrect interpretation, I'm not going to go into great detail here.  Those can be found in many places such as texts by biblical scholars, the detailed blog I'm Christian. I'm Gay. Let's Talk, and in this amazing scholarly interpretation of six Bible verses by the very brave Matthew Vines in Wichita, KS in 2012.

I'm going to say now that I agree with the scholarly interpretations that say that committed homosexual relationships are not condemned in the Bible because the scholars presented convincing evidence.  I firmly believe that what this calls for is a more universal acceptance of future members of "heaven."

• If Jesus was so opposed to homosexual relationships, why was he silent on the issue?  Maybe because it wasn't a big deal to him.    Were there no gay people in Jesus' time?  Highly doubtful, since there are references to homosexual acts.  But Jesus doesn't criticize, so long as we respect and love each other, and love God.  Who is this God he wants us to love?


• They say "God made man and woman in God's image."  Did God create everyone in his/her image?  If so, does God have a gay side?  There are other human diversities besides sexual orientation to consider.  There are gender identity and chromosomal issues that blur the lines of male/female.  A lot more people than you'd probably guess are born with sexual ambiguity.  According to the Intersex Society of North America, one in 100 people are born sexually ambiguous.  In fact, the number of people born without a distinctive XX or XY sex chromosome makeup is one in 1,666! (And it God said, "it was good.")  That's a lot of people, if you ask me.  Weren't they made in God's image, too?  According to the Bible, who can sexually ambiguous or trans people have sexual relationships with?  I'm pretty sure the science required for such conversations wasn't available when the Bible was written,  or when it was transcribed or translated.  Nor was homosexuality well defined or understood at the time.


• Aside from the androgyny of God, above all, it is said that "God is love."  Jesus said, "Love," more than he said much of anything else.  Love the poor, the enemy, the leper, the child, the woman, and so on.  He never said anything about NOT loving.  So who is supposed to love?  All of us.  And we do love those we are close to and who we understand.  If someone has a child who is born different in some way, they love the child, and wouldn't imagine spending eternity in heaven while their "different" child spends eternity in a fiery pit.  So a mother or father would INCLUDE their child in Club Heaven if given the choice.  Is their love stronger than that of the god who created them in his/her image?  Does the mother's or father's capacity for grace exceed that of their heavenly mother or father?  


• More love?  Why, yes.  The modern argument against same-sex life partners never seems to focus on the love they share with one another.  It always focuses on what they are doing with their private parts in the bedroom, which is one of millions of ways that partners express love for one another. Relationships aren't only about sexuality.  They're about who we love and how we treat those people.

• 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 was only translated to refer to "homosexuals" in the 1940s.  Within historical context, and translated more accurately, the original text was referring to prohibitions of economic and sexual exploitation, not prohibitions of homosexuality.  If society continues to say that the LGBTQ community has to stop acting so gay and go about procreating in opposite-sex marriages, is no one being exploited? Exploitation means "to make use of, selfishly or unethically." Let's say for argument's sake that I'm correct that consensual same-sex relationships are ethical and that population increase shouldn't be the only goal in a committed relationship.  Wouldn't requiring those who are attracted to the same sex to only have relationships with the opposite sex be both selfish and unethical?  Forcing anyone to go against their own natural desires would be exploitation.


• Finally, since when did condemning people become OK? "I love you, and God does too.  But I thought I'd give you fair warning that you're going to perish for being your true self."  What a paradox!  It's not loving to tell anyone that the way they were born is going to send them to Hell if they act on their god-given nature.   Gay people weren't sent to the earth to be the bad example for everyone.  They were made in God's image, too.  If another, more historically accurate and contextual interpretation of scripture says NOTHING about condemning God's LGBTQ children, why not embrace the more loving translation?  What's the payback for so much disdain, fear, hate and moral posturing?  Who, then, are the sinners -- those who chose to love, or the select heterosexuals who condemned the lovers?  

Hopefully by the time those sinners make it to Club Heaven, they will have worked on their manners around gay people.

On the Offering of Advice

Have you found yourself compelled to give unsolicited advice to people who are poor decision-makers, even when it's repeatedly ignored?  You may feel strongly that it is in their best interest for you to step in, speak up, and point out their folly.  But before you offer potentially unwanted advice, it is worthwhile to consider the complex human behavior that leads us to either take advice or ignore it and make our own decisions.  Have you asked yourself what it is about your tactics that leads to a failure to persuade or dissuade?  If you consider what goes on under the surface of these human interactions, you can tailor your advice to be more convincing.  Or, you may choose a different path altogether.

On the offering of advice...a preparatory guide:

We encourage our children
to be independent, to a point.

• From the time you could walk and talk, you have been developing independence.   As humans develop, we take advantage of opportunities to establish ourselves as free-willed thinkers, sometimes in defiance of our elders' wishes.  I suspect the desire to be a unique individual peaks in the late teens, early twenties.  That's why we set our children loose at that age.  They need to make their own mistakes and find their own way.  Hormones, habits, memories,  independence and a desire maintain individuality--all of these things contribute to the choices we make. 


• You have something to gain from giving advice.  What is it?  Are you hoping to save her from dire consequences?  Are you wanting her to ignore the advice yet again so you can say, "I told you so"?  Are you embarrassed by her errors in judgment?  Or, is she needing to hear it because she is harming others with her behavior? Examining your motivation might reveal that she is competing with you for gains, because she has something at stake as well.  Honesty, especially with yourself, goes a long way here.  Otherwise your motivation could seem suspect.





Your clothing tips remind her of  that
oppressive dress code from childhood.

• What is your relationship with the recipient of your advice?  Are you approaching him from a loving standpoint, or one of disdain or habitual power play?  Are you a co-worker?  A parent?  A sibling?  If you examine the relationship and determine that you are acting out of caring and love for the other person, does your advice show it?  Do you remind him of something from his past that shuts him down?  Sometimes we don't fully understand our relationships, and that can lead to a disconnection between ourselves and the other person.  For example, something about your advice may remind him of a time in his childhood when he was bullied by his peers.   Or, you might be evoking the rebellion of his youth because you sound parental.  He may not even realize this.  It's worth consideration.  


• What advice has been given before, and why didn't it work?  Are you starting to sound like a broken record?  Is that how you want to sound?  Are you being flexible in your expectations, or can you only see things your way?


• Have you asked her what she wants?  Maybe she is seeking the help you are offering but would rather be asked first.  More likely, she might want to figure things out on her own.   Does she have the same goals that you have for her, or are you wanting her to live your dream?  Is she happy with the decisions that she has made so far?  Is she the only one making the decisions, or is her partner involved?  Is  the issue legitimately your concern?


• Have you given him the space and time to make the decision on his own before offering your two cents?  As an adult, he wants to own his actions entirely.  If you tell him to send thank-you cards for Aunt Emma's handmade sweater, it will feel to him like he's doing it because you told him to, not because he is an independently grateful person.





This turned out to be not such a
good idea in the long run.

• What is the gravity of the situation?  Is he irreparably harming himself or others, or is he your constant worry or inconvenience?  If the wrong choice is made, will he be able to undo what has been done?  What resources do you have to truly help him?  Do you need support from others such as a support group, a professional, close friends, family, or clergy? 

Do you engage her in other ways that make her feel validated?  Is your disapproving opinion dominating the conversation, or do you also give her props and kudos for her accomplishments?  Do you normally have conversations of substance (i.e. not the weather) that don't focus on the negative?  Who else is hearing your interactions?  You could be invalidating her by pointing out her foibles constantly.  Additionally, if you talk to others about the issue when she is not present, her resentment might override her judgement. 

Against everyone's advice,
he followed his dream and
joined the circus.

What example have you set?  Nobody likes taking advice from a hypocrite, nor do they want to feel as if you have an air of superiority.  If you're imparting sage wisdom because you've "been there, done that," can you share your story rather than attempt to shape his with a word to the wise?  If your recommendation is driven by your guilty past or your own poor self-image, a re-examination of your motivation might be in order.  

A very important question to ponder is, "what is the worst possible outcome if I say nothing?"  You might find yourself asking this question more and more often as you see how liberating it can be to live and let live.  Sharing your personal stories and having loving, listening conversations with the people you care about is often a relationship-builder and a better route than offering up suggestions for how others could be doing things differently.  

Open Studio

This past Saturday was a perfect day.  The weather was divine, as if the Kansas air was sighing with relief after such a difficult summer.  The green in the trees was actively yielding to those reds and yellows which have been hiding away.

Sara's Yard Sale

I called on Sara, who was having a yard sale under a big white canopy.  I accidentally chased a customer away who was low balling the price of a lovely sheepskin throw rug, which is now hanging on my rocking chair.  I was given hot Darjeeling by my hostess, and another friend, Lora, joined me.  The two of us sat in Sara's beach furniture and sketched the yard sale, sipping tea. Sara's twins surveyed the neighborhood from the ground on a scooter and from above in a redbud tree.

Via Flickr: Instructor William Merritt Chase
is pictured in the photo.  Photographed by either
Joseph Byron or his son Percy Claude.

Chase, William Merritt, 1849-1916

Lora and I finished our tea and moved onto part two of our outing -- Open Studio at the University of Kansas.  In our chatter, Lora lost her way, but eventually she found Jayhawk Boulevard and the Fine Arts building.  Here, we made our way through hallways, past sculptures and murals, and up a staircase to a big room filled with easels and people.  Without making eye contact, the proctor who greeted us asked, "are you high school students?" and Lora humorously mumbled something about her gray hair.  The proctor offered us some skewers for holding up between ourselves and the model to get more accurate scale and proportion.  I declined, confident I wouldn't need such a thing.  We signed in and found some empty seats.  Lora gave me a banana from her purse, which was exactly what I needed to calm the Darjeeling running through my veins.

 At the front of the room was the pink and bald nude model.  He took his place and set a timer for 15 minutes.  I started sketching, self-assured that whatever came of this would be good.  And without the aid of any instruction every stroke of my pencil -- and even of the eraser -- was actually perfect!  Fifteen minutes passed, and the model moved into a second pose.  I came out of my deluded trance.  In the back of my mind, I could hear the Fear of Failure begging the man not to look in my direction.  In the front of my mind, I could see a pink man made of triangles, rectangles, circles, shadows and highlights.  I focused on those.  I drew those.

At the end of two 15 minute sessions, the model took a break, and I had a chance to tell Lora, "I've never done this before!"  I've never taken a figure drawing class, or spent much time studying how to draw the human form.  I've never been in a human anatomy class.  But here I was, drawing something that looked like that pink man in front of me.

Lora and I decided we would stay for one more pose.  As the model took his place, I could hear that background voice again, dreading the chance that I might have to draw his penis, and would I avoid it altogether or treat it like more circles and squares?  He reclined on some boxes and chairs covered in a dark blue sheet.  The timer was set for 30 minutes.  As before, I started with the oval head, gave him some generally rectangular body shapes, added some ovals for legs.  For a moment, I wished I'd taken the proctor up on his offer of a skewer, but then I discovered my pencil served the same purpose.  

Without thinking the words, but drawing them, "lines, shapes, shadows, highlights...lines, shapes, shadows, highlights," became my meditation.  As with any meditation, it was casually interrupted by thoughts like, "his legs are so skinny," "what's going on with his toes?" and, "is this perspective off?"  But those thoughts were put aside for the work of pushing the pencil and eraser around on the page, smearing the graphite with my finger to blur edges, and letting the day take its course.  

The miracle of turning to dust

A supernova remnant about 20,000 light years from Earth. 
(Smithsonian Institution)

Every single day, I leave little pieces of me behind.  Parts of my body are shed as it creates new life within me.  Skin cells, hair, mucus, and yes, even the excrement that was once inside of me, leave me and return to the earth.  These bits and pieces that I leave behind are a tiny fraction of the recycling of life that occurs on the planet each moment of every day.  And the dust that I become is a resource for other life.  Small creatures like dust mites consume the dead skin that I shed, and microorganisms thankfully break down the waste I produce.

Without the help of detritivores and decomposers we would be quickly consumed by piles of our own dust and waste, and that of the other creatures we share the planet with.  It's quite beautiful how it all works out so that we can carry on.

Dust mites feed on organic detritus such 
as flakes of shed human skin and flourish
 in the stable environment of dwellings. 
(Wikipedia)

Each particle of dust that we shed, taken alone, is incapable of thought or feeling.  And, if we lose a larger part of ourselves through accident, that part can't stand alone and philosophize about the meaning of life or the promise of afterlife.  The bodies we occupy one day will turn to dust entirely.   And each particle is entirely incapable of doing anything more than occupying the earth as matter, energy.  The matter remains "alive" in that it nourishes another life, a life that is perhaps more important than we like to admit.  The consumers of humanity are the flies, dust mites, bacteria and fungus, which humans generally have come to disdain.

Earth Rise as Seen From Lunar Surface
(NASA)

For me, this is enough, the beautiful eternity of the cycle of life is all I need to know before I die.  After all, before I was born, my consciousness was nothing, and every day bits of me return to a lack of conscious being.  One day, I will die, and my body will disperse its energy into the world.  There is no single cell of my body that can contain my thoughts and feelings, and there will be an end to "me."  It is such an amazing miracle that I will return to the dust from which I came, but in between I have been given the gift of my body and mind on this perfect planet circling our perfect sun in our galaxy in space.

Common Threads, Parasitized

1960s Gymnastics for Housewives

Imagine for a moment an isolated town somewhere in the Midwest.  It's one of those places where the phrase "you can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone you know," just goes without saying.  And, if you can't find something you want at Walmart, you can't find it at all.  Now picture the women in the community -- mostly high-school educated, married and with kids by their early 20s.  The women deal with children all day.  Admittedly the kids make them a little crazy.  Some of them even take care of children of working moms.  So, they find adult conversation and sympathetic shoulders to lean on at church, at moms' luncheon groups (if they got the invitation and will sign a form that says they're Christian) and the library.  These are the threads that hold these women together:  children, housekeeping, self-care, God, shopping, stories, and food. Occasionally, a stay-at-home dad joins the mix, but he is prohibited from joining the "MOMs group," not because he wouldn't sign the form, but because it's for moms, of course.  He is particularly lonely. 

Now maybe the families fall on hard times, or maybe the outside stimulus of the church, etc. just isn't enough, so the women start to look for other ways to keep busy.  They go online and research how to be a better house cleaner, or a more frugal coupon snipper, and give a presentation about it at one of the luncheons.  They, and all their friends, join list-serves like Flylady.net and krazy coupon lady.  They get weekly emails about how to shop without spending money, or which room they'll clean next, and feel good about their spotless kitchen sink and extra cash.  And they will never again want for Crest or Suave.  But some of them need to make a little money to boot.  Working from home is the only option, really, because getting a job in this small town wouldn't be profitable after paying for child care.  There is a vast array of options for women who want to work from home.  They can sell cosmetics, fragrances, jewelry, scrap-booking supplies, cookware, candles, children's books, Christian products, food kits, and on and on.  And they have a perfect target audience!  All those sympathetic moms they met at church, etc.   You know, the ones who are also working from home, selling products that were made for women to sell to other women.  Products that focus on children, self-care, housekeeping, God, shopping, stories, and food.

1960: Sales representatives in "spacettes" costume pose
before the rocket entranceway of Tupperware Home Parties Inc.

Now, we're getting somewhere.  After some initial purchases, the income starts flowing.  House parties are booked, and the women are seeing each other more frequently, and making profits off of one another.  If a woman started out lonely, she is suddenly finding ways to get people out to her house (which is spotless after all that help from Flylady).  Emails go out to every female in her address book:  friendly ones that encourage a blessing be shared, and business invitations.  She might even pretend to be someone's friend, just to get her to come over and buy something.  There's no obligation, of course, but everyone feels a little sorry for her and spends more than they intended.  She baked those brownies, after all.  The stay-at-home dad may feel ostracized, but at least he is parasite-free.   

The intended goal wasn't parasitism, but that's the effect.  Not soon enough, they realize (or do they?) that they have alienated some people.  An entire room of their tiny home has been overtaken by this product, and they are spending more time on sales and less time on socializing and community.  Some of them even bring their products to the moms' luncheons.  The diminishing returns must be dealt with:  either turn up the heat or get out of the kitchen.  Some find that they can make a small profit from a few clients who were once considered friends, but who are now more interested in talking to them about the next fix than about their problems.  And, what they really need is someone to talk to.  Someone who wants to sit down and just talk about children, self-care, housekeeping, God, shopping, stories, and food.