cirque du freak, salma hayek, beard, chin hairs, hairy, hair

Hair today, hair tomorrow

One minute you are a normal, functioning human woman. You practise safe hair removal, armed with a Venus razor and easy access to a professional waxer. And then all of a sudden you are not a normal functioning human woman, you are Chewbacca. Hair here. And here, and here. Wiry ones. It is a case of constant vigilance because, what would happen if you just let them grow wild and free? Nothing good.


I am nothing without moisturiser. I moisturise therefore I am. I am dewy, like Spring. Despite the booze and the coffee and occasional menthol cigarette, my skin is a temple. During a furtive office moisturise I suddenly connect with a stubborn foreign thing on my chin. THIS HAPPENS ALMOST EVERY DAY. I never leave the house without tweezers again.

Small of back

Nothing sexier than that rogue hair springing from the small of my back. That I can feel catching on my knickers but through some twist of terrible fate keeps evading my attempts at removing it. Something to do with the angle. Hold on… And then I caught myself in the bathroom mirror doing the contortion. Back fat. Loss of dignity. *passes out*


Not just a light hairy leg but a full grown black Hobbit crop. There on the knee cap. With lots of Hobbity friends. Can you see it through the tights? Do I shave it? Will it come back thicker? Should I just give up and draw a face on my knee and give it a name?


There I am doing some sweeping, upwards cleansing movements that a facialist once told me to do in my 20s, when, what fresh hair is this? NOOOOOOOO. Neck hair. Soft goaty tufts. But brown. Dark brown. Sweet, really. And also disturbing.


It’s the hormones. The hairmones. It’s the living end. A black boobic hair. And when they said, ‘This’ll put hairs on our chest,’ I didn’t BELIEVE them. It’s all a terrible trap.

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