I shaped my pubic hair into a Playboy bunny as a last-ditch effort to keep my boyfriend interested

“As you can imagine, the days that followed were rough.”

Even before I was old enough to think about pubes, the message was everywhere: body hair is a problem. If you want to be perceived as desirable – don’t have any.  

Growing up, celebrities like Gwyneth Paltrow and Victoria Beckham made Brazilian waxes sound like a rite of passage. I remember Beckham even called them “compulsory”. Meanwhile, Y2K fashion trends left no room for debate, literally. Low-rise jeans didn’t cut you any slack for a stray pube.

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Looking back, I realise how anxious I’ve been about my pubes in casual relationships compared to my long-term ones. Would a full bush be a dealbreaker? Should I keep a razor in my bag on nights out?  

Porn only reinforced this mindset. In the early 2000s, performers more frequently went completely bare. And, as the bare look became mainstream, it was also framed as more hygienic, as if hair – something the human body naturally grows – is inherently unclean. Which really just means undesirable.

By the time I was actually undressing in front of someone, I wasn’t just thinking about what I wanted, I was thinking about what they expected.

For example, whilst in the throes of a situationship with a guy who only hung out with me for my UberEats account (when he would refuse to come over I would bribe him with Mexican food) I realised his interest in me was dwindling. It turns out, queso dip can only do so much for a relationship’s success.

One afternoon, I was struck by a comment he made about my pubes being ‘medieval vibes’. The cherry on top? One day, he left his phone open on the table with the Google search being: ‘no hair vagina woman’. Like… yup, I’ll take the hint. 

With my already confusing pubic hair situation, shaved within an inch of its life, permanently covered in razor burn that looked unsettlingly like boiled chicken skin (sorry), I marched into a waxing salon. I had seen an ad on Facebook (I was 19, forgive me) for a Playboy bunny-shaped wax.

As you can imagine, the days that followed were rough, as I had to bear witness to the ‘bunny’ growing out. To make matters worse, it never resembled a Playboy bunny at all, more like a blob with spontaneous appendages. Or, as my ex-situationship put it: like his ball sack. Great!

Looking back, I cringe. What exactly did I think my pubic hair could do to change his feelings for me? Did I really think it held so much power?

Now, this isn’t about blaming all men. But it needs to be understood that this goes beyond personal preference. We must reflect on women’s beauty expectations through a lens that considers the patriarchal structures we live in. When desirability feels like a currency, and the exchange rate favours the hairless, it’s not surprising that so many of us fall in line. 

Married with this beauty standard, maybe my anxiety isn’t about casual vs long-term relationships, it’s really about the fear of being perceived. When you don’t really know someone, it’s easy to assume they’re seeing you through the lens of whatever the dominant standard is, and that’s terrifying. It can feel like you’ve got about four seconds to make a lasting impression and if that impression isn’t neatly aligned with patriarchal ideals, the stakes suddenly feel much higher. 

A friend of mine put it perfectly: “Over time, maintenance becomes more about me and less about them.” She admitted, after some one night stands, there were moments when being ghosted or ignored made her question whether her body, hair and all, played a role.

Another friend of mine took a different stance, saying “if anyone I sleep with gives a fuck, that’s fucking embarrassing.”

While I respect both perspectives, I don’t think the reality is that black and white. The truth is, most of us likely exist somewhere in the middle: sometimes caring, sometimes not, and sometimes wavering in-between. If we ever do ‘let go’ of these anxieties, maybe it’s less about relationship length, and more about feeling comfortable: with our partner and with ourselves.

For the most part, in my relationship now, my pubic hair maintenance is something I think about once a year. If I feel like going full bare, I will. If I feel like growing it out to the point where people are convinced Bigfoot is actually hiding between my legs, I will.

With time, I’ve learnt how to feel sexy in my own body. But, that’s not to say I don’t think my partner is just saying he doesn’t care about the state of my pubes. Even though we’ve been together for four years, I still think about how he might prefer a lightning bolt vagina as opposed to something that vaguely resembles one of Cher’s wigs. Just because I’m in a relationship, it doesn’t mean I’m healed from the rules of society.

In truth, there’s nothing more unsexy than sleeping with someone who is grossed out by the human body. And, sure, everyone is allowed their preference. But if that preference has to do with a little hair, that’s whack.

Our pubes shouldn’t be influenced by what is trending like peplum tops or ballet flats, and it definitely shouldn’t be dictated by whether you’re in a long-term relationship or sleeping with Chad from the club.

At the end of the day, the moment you get naked with another person, these trends and beauty standards often fall away, and it becomes more about what makes you feel sexy and confident: no hair, hair, or in my case, ball sack shaped pubes.

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