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11.08.2007 JAYPLAY
speak
MY HAIRY LIFE
He can't braid it, but he doesn't want to part with it. By Nick Finnegan
I'm a hairy person. There are just no two ways about it. Thick, black hair covers my arms and legs and I seem to have a shag carpet glued to my stomach and chest. The funny thing is that neither of my parents is particularly hairy. But somewhere in the random arrangement of my genetic materials, my DNA was coded for profuse hair growth. Looking at the tufts of coarse, now gray, hair sprouting from grandpa I can definitely tell what traits have been passed on to me.
I wasn't always hairy, not in the beginning. I spent many days in my childhood frolicking, glorious, and bodyhair-free. Then one summer afternoon at the pool before my sixth grade year, a friend of mine noticed something strange under my arms.
"Wow, you already started growing armpit hair?"
Damn straight, I thought. I was on the fast track to becoming a man, and it was showcased in my ability to grow hair that other guys couldn't at the time. I was proud of my genes and my quick development. It wasn't just the armpit hair, either. Later that year I started growing bits of facial hair, mostly in the form of a thin, creepy-looking moustache. I was learning to shave and do all those cool things that men do. But as middle school faded to high school, my arm hair began to thicken up along with my leg hair, and what had once been a treasure trail on my tummy erupted into a forest of hair on my chest and stomach. Nearly every area on my body, except my back, was covered in the unwanted, black extrusions.
My hairiness never really shamed or embarrassed me at first. Girls weren't really a problem. I had a girlfriend at the time for three years, from the end of my freshman year to my senior year, so I didn't have to worry about any other ladies at school seeing the prodigiousness only hinted at by the alfalfa sprouts popping out from the front of my collar.
Guys didn't hassle me, either. I was a wrestler for two years, and my Sasquatch-esque appearance standing nearly naked on the weight scale never resulted in laughter or hysteria.
Not until one wrestling meet, when we were being checked by the referees, making sure that our nails were cut and our faces shaved as per regulations, did I ever feel truly embarrassed. "Jeez, maybe we should have made you shave the rest of yourself too, huh?" said
one referee, grinning at the other. All I wanted was to tell him to shut up and do his freaking job and leave me alone. From then on I started becoming more self-conscious about my hair.
By the time I had come to KU, my hair had established itself as a prominent feature of my physical appearance, and it was darker and thicker than ever. A month or so into my first semester I felt it was time to do something. My first attempt at shaving proved futile, because of how thick the hair was, I had to take drastic measures. I waited until I knew my roommates would be out, and after testing a spot of skin to ensure I wouldn't have an allergic reaction, I emptied a bottle of Nair onto my skin. The thick, goopy mess smelled terrible as I stood covered from chest to foot. I told myself that it would be worth it in the end. The allotted time passed and I stepped into the shower and watched as my shame washed down the drain. After an agonizing hour and a half, I found myself as hair-free as a naked mole rat, sans all those gross wrinkles.
I realized the real problem wasn't that I was too hairy; it was that I had let somebody make me believe that I was too hairy. My hair was a part of me and I had let somebody else's opinion shape what I thought was correct. The regrowing process was prickly and painful (worse in some areas than others) and rid me of any desire to attempt to be somebody I'm not. And whether you're hairless or you're covered in something resembling the flooring of an old WW bus, don't worry about what people think, or think they know. I certainly don't.
My freshly liberated body felt strange and incomplete, however. My roommates noticed the change right away, of course, and had themselves a nice laugh. It also didn't help that I had decided to try this experiment during winter. My skin was unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures that my furiness had abated. Every time I walked to class, I felt exposed and wished I had my hair back.
Think you have a more prominent pelt than this guy? Prove it. Send your photos (chest/back only, please) to javplay07@gmail.com and let us be the judges. Winning photos will be printed in an upcoming issue.
PHOTO BY ANNA FALTERMEIER