In the Edmonton Journal today there was a piece in the Life section about the grooming of male body hair, particularly of the back variety. I read with great interest for a number of reasons. First, my husband is quite the furry mountain man. I remember vividly the first time he took his shirt off and I ran my fingers through all that hair. My inner teenager was shocked at just how pleasurable an experience it truly is.
I don’t know about all women but this woman was once a 15 year old girl who sat aghast with her best friend watching the shirtless neighbor mow his lawn. At least from that distance we could tell he was shirtless. From a house or two farther away, he just looked like a crazy man sweating in a coat as he struggled to finish his yard-work in the mid-evening summer heat. At that point in time, I couldn’t think of a single bigger turn-off than back hair, or front hair for that matter (and just to complete the tmi here, I didn’t yet know about the amount of hair below a man’s belt).
The second reason I read the article was to ascertain if I was truly a freak for loving my man with hair. And it turns out that I am, though I should have known this upon reading the posted responses on the widow board when one of the women posted a link to a dating profile where the gentlemen posed shirtless and proudly furry. The ewwwww chorus was unanimous and unequivocal. I wanted to chime in at that point with a comment about the utter sexiness of body hair on a man, but figured it would be lost on most of them. They still see themselves as 20 somethings and secretly envision taut and hairless young men in their mind’s eye. Back when I was so young and so much more inexperienced, they were the type of boys I thought attractive too. How I got from Shaun Cassidy to big, brawny and hairy is a mystery, but here I am.
The final reason I read the article was to ascertain what, if anything, men did about too much hair in places that women found unattractive enough to make them self-conscious. The answer is little. There is shaving, waxing, exfoliating with depilatories and zapping the little guys with lasers.
My husband firmly discounts them all. I am not sure my enamored reaction to his fuzziness has sold him entirely on having become, in his words, a “sasquatch” because he would frankly have preferred it not to appear in almost direct proportion to the loss of hair on his head. Still, he is far too much of a man to care overly what the world at large thinks about his appearance.