Monday, August 18, 2014

An Open Letter to The Tiny Black Hairs Growing In All Over My Face

Dear Little Hairs,

What up, jerks?

I bet you thought I'd never address you directly. I bet you thought that I'd just continue my silent, frustrated assault upon you each morning. But clearly the plucking has no lasting impact on you. Like a drunk forcibly ejected from a Wild West Saloon, it doesn't matter if I throw you out the door or through the plate glass window, you'll still stumble back in first thing in the morning, as though nothing has happened.

Well I've had just about enough of that, so I've decided that it's time for us to sit down and actually talk about your full-scale mutiny across the pirate ship that is my female face. I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm a lady. Not a very ladylike lady, but a lady nonetheless. I am a full supporter of all gender expressions, and I've worn my fair share of suits and beards. But, I feel at home being feminine. And yet you, tiny, thick, dark man hairs, are popping up all over the place with the same spontaneous vigor of daisies in the snow.

I noticed the first one of you when I was maybe 21 years old. Just a rogue hair to the left of my chin, almost cute in its uniqueness. I have always found plucking my eyebrows to be a somewhat satisfying experience, so when I yoinked the first of you out of your follicle home, it was like embarking on a fun little adventure. I had heard that most women have one or two little black hairs that start growing on their face after a certain age, so I felt pretty normal. In fact, it felt like a little rite of passage. Like the singular tiny dark man hair was my initiation into being a grown woman.

But that wasn't enough for you.

Maybe I was too kind, too encouraging. Maybe you thought since I hadn't really put up very much of a fuss, you could invite some of your friends to come over and, y'know, hang out. On my face.


Over the course of the past seven years, you have multiplied and spread. You are like rabbits, if rabbits were evil. This is the bane of my Greek heritage: I have this handsome olive skin, and ability to tan in the sun. I probably smell like laurels and olive oil all the time, and my blood runs thick with Olympic endurance, but these gifts come with a price. The price is hair.

Now one of you grows directly out of the center of each of my cheeks. Some of you grow in on my neck. I even found one on my ear lobe. These are all in addition to the 8 or 9 that have taken up residence on the prime real estate of my chin and upper lip. Luckily I have cottoned on to your game, so I scour my face every morning for any new buddies, doing by best get rid of all of you before any civilized people notice you.

But now you're doing this amazing, physics defying thing where you send out a scout in the middle of the day, and where there was no hair, a mere two hours later, there is a thick black hair a few millimeters long, just waving around in the wind all day long while I talk to Clients and try to pretend to be professional.


And another thing! As the years have gone by, your physical properties have changed. You are just as thick and black as ever, but now you are brittle in addition to being firmly rooted in my skin. This means that if I don't get one of you out exactly right the first time, you'll break off right at the surface, leaving a little black spot that is long enough to be seen, but not long enough to get a good grip with the tweezers, thereby rendering yourself a permanent fixture on my face for at least two more days. Your favorite place to do this is directly between my eyes.


I'm only 28, and I used to believe that this sort of thing wouldn't start plaguing me in earnest until middle age. But now I can only assume that by the time I'm 40, my entire face is just going to be a carpet of scraggly black hairs. I bet it'll all be growing out of my eyeballs and my nose, and my mustache will be the envy of hipster boys everywhere.



I was starting to feel badly about this, but then I had a revelation: Maybe MOST women in their late 20's start suffering from the same assault from you, Tiny Black Hairs Growing In All Over Our Faces. I think it's some part of our bodies deciding to just give up on the ghost on the whole offspring thing and settle in for a long life of hairy-faced oblivion. But none of us feel like it's okay to talk about, and we all just pluck away in shameful secret. Well it is secret no more!

Well, you know what? You can try as hard as you want, little hairs, but you won't be the boss of me. I'm gonna pluck you out every day, and I'm gonna like it.

Any of you ladies out there who feel like you're a freak because you're not even 30 and already your face has started creating a beautiful field of hairy daisies, I want you to know that you're not alone. We'll never beat this monster, but by god, it won't beat us either.

Love,
Clever Girl

1 comment:

  1. Yup. I know multiple women, including myself, dealing with this.... hahahahahahaha

    ReplyDelete