During London’s recent art week, I noticed a surprising number of paintings of women with full, unapologetic bushes. The women in Danielle McKinney’s work were particularly sensual and defiantly unshaven. It struck me how radical, even in 2025, this still feels. Hair that grows out of armpits, between our legs, on our thighs, our faces – these are not the kinds of hair we celebrate. (I’ve long had a single grey hair sprouting from my left cheek. I pluck it; it returns. We have an ongoing relationship.) These are the hairs we’re collectively horrified by. Why?
Different cultures have their own (often unspoken) rules. In South Asia, lush hair on the head is prized, but heaven forbid it travels south. In the Middle East, pre-wedding waxing is practically compulsory. African culture is not so different. Would I attend an old school Nigerian party in a sleeveless outfit showing tufts of “dirty” underarm hair? Readers, the music would stop.
Women are told that to be hairless is to be hygienic, feminine and desirable
In the west, we still haven’t recovered from the “trauma” of Julia Roberts lifting her unshaven armpit at the Notting Hill premiere in 1999. Decades later, when a celebrity (Emily Ratajkowski? Lourdes Leon? Emma Corrin? Take your pick) appeared on a magazine cover with visible armpit hair, the internet combusted. “Gross.” “Brave.” “Attention-seeking.” The mere idea of not removing hair was treated as an act of provocation. At some point, the full Brazilian – the total erasure of pubic hair – became the gold standard of “clean”. It partly coincided with the rise of the thong – those barely there scraps of Lycra inspired by Brazilian beachwear – but porn played an undeniable role. In the 1990s and early 2000s, mainstream pornography went hairless, partly for aesthetics, partly for visibility on camera. Directors wanted to “see everything” and performers complied. What started on set crept into culture, trickling disturbingly down to teenage girls clutching razors and booking waxes.
The pornographic ideal became the norm: the vulva as a kind of blank, prepubescent canvas. What’s alarming is how quickly it was accepted as standard grooming rather than cultural conditioning. Still, murmurs of rebellion exist. Artists are painting pubic hair again. “Januhairy”, a month-long online campaign, encourages women to embrace their natural fuzz. Kim Kardashian’s brand Skims recently crashed the internet with the Ultimate Bush thong – faux-pubic-hair underwear in 12 shades. (It sold out in 24 hours.) Brands like Fur and Naydaya sell beauty products for the hair “down there”. Going from “remove it” to “nurture it” feels conversely radical and capitalist.
Whatever the case, the idea that visible body hair is somehow “wrong”, largely remains. I’ve lost count of the women who’ve told me that laser hair removal was “the best thing they ever did”. Maybe it’s generational; Gen Z seem far more laissez-faire, but for many, exposing hairy legs still feels like a no-no. Unless, of course, there's a message. You can’t just be hairy. It has to mean something. Perhaps real freedom will come when it doesn’t mean anything at all. When a woman can lift her arm, reveal a glorious puff of hair, leave her upper lip furry, dive into a pool with an unmanicured bikini line, and nobody, least of all herself, notices. Until then, the politics of the follicle remain: smoothed, sugared, lasered, while quietly growing back underneath.
On My Radar… Classic scents, divine candles, bath essentials
Pure sophistication I’ve developed a soft spot for vintage-style scents – the kind a chic grandmother might have worn while sipping champagne. Valaya has me hooked. The bergamot, white peach and orange flower make it elegantly feminine, while a hint of musk and vetiver keeps it modern, never syrupy. Every time I wear it, someone leans in and says, ‘My goodness, what is that?’ Parfum de Marly Valaya Parfum, £175, Parfum de Marly
Candles to count on If, like me, you consider candles an essential part of beauty and wellness, prepare to swoon. Matiere Première has now launched a candle collection as divine as its fragrances. Each is devoted to a single raw material, crafted with 95% natural wax and will scent your home with pure luxury. Smells heavenly, burn sparingly. Matiere Premiere Rose De Mai Grasse candle, £85, Matiere Premiere
Soak it away On a manic work trip to Geneva, I scoured the shops with a friend desperate for bath salts. None. He was crushed and, honestly, I got it. Because I find a great bath salt – like Dreem Distillery’s, which is packed with CBD, Himalayan and Epsom salts – melts stress and restores balance. And, you’ll smell like a dream and sleep like a baby. Dreem Distillery The Z’s Bath Salts, £55, Dreem Distillery