The Hairy Yogini: A Tale of Saying F**** It

I walked into my yogasana class in Rishikesh, India, excited and anxious about furthering my yoga practice in the yoga capital of the world. I chose the left corner of the room, unsheathed my yoga mat from the newly bought holster and enjoyed the nice snap it made as I expertly unrolled it over the red carpet of the rooftop shala. I was ready.

Our young Indian asana teacher, named Rajat, walked into the shala, mat in hand and a determined look in his eye.

After brief introductions, we began with some initial stretches and then Rajat asked us to raise our arms high above our heads to stretch out our spines. And, I froze. My mind racing, I began to sweat. I never thought that request would ever fill me with a sense of dread and indecision.

The first thought that came to my mind was, But if I raise my arms above my head, everyone will finally see that I’VE COMPLETELY STOPPED SHAVING MY ARMPITS!

Rajat looked at me expectantly, I looked at him hesitantly and without much more thought, I raised my arms high in the air and let my pit fros free. And do you want to know the best part about it?

No. One. Cared.

Or at least, when they judged me, their judgement was kept inside themselves, which I couldn’t be concerned about whatsoever. My armpit hair debut was in full swing and I felt free. In all honesty, I felt a little hesitation for the next couple of days when I had to raise my hands and hold them there for long periods of time, but that soon subsided as I became more and more comfortable with the beautiful, hairy me.

If you ask me the exact reason why I stopped shaving my armpits, it is hard to say. But after much thought, I could tell you that it started in Canada of all places. Adam and I were in the heart of Banff National Park on a short hiking/camping vacation in the summer of 2017. We wandered into an overpriced grocery store to stock up on supplies before retreating back to our campsite. While in line, hands full of groceries and people watching out of boredom, I began to analyze the two girls that were standing in front of me. I first noticed that they were pretty but when they both lifted their arms to put groceries on the conveyor belt, I reeled in horror at what looked like brown teddy bear hamsters under their armpits. I thought to myself, Why would such pretty girls walk around like that?!

They eventually left, and I did too but the thought of those two girls never left my mind. But as I began to think about why it bothered me so much to see such a sight, a new thought emerged,

Why was I so appalled by the hair that was growing under their arms?

It wasn’t harming me, it did not affect me in any real way and after all, it was something that was totally natural. The only unnatural thing is that I felt the urge to drag a metal razor over my armpits in order to obey antiquated and frankly stupid societal pressures. This new way of thinking never escaped my mental grasp and for a little over two years, I stewed over this thought.

Then in late 2019, shortly after arriving in Mumbai, India while on a trip around the world with my then boyfriend (now fiance) Adam, one day, I just didn’t feel like shaving my armpits. They desperately needed a break. The hot weather and aquatic activities from the previous countries in our trip had required me to shave my armpits almost daily. My armpit hair has always naturally grown unusually fast which usually resulted in an awkward 5 o’clock shadow even on days when my razor was new. But all that shaving had left me with some ingrown hairs, skin discoloration and two very unhappy and unhealthy armpits.

Fast forward two months later and I still haven’t picked up the razor to attack the small black bears that have grown under both arms. But, you know what?

I LOVE IT.

I love not having to wake up everyday and run a razor across a very sensitive area of my body. I love not having to worry about ingrown hairs and discolored skin that still made me afraid to expose my underarms. I love not worrying about the small nicks and cuts that slowly damaged my pits.

And most of all, I love the way it looks. I feel like I look like a bad-ass, natural version of myself because that is how I should look. That is the body that God gave me – armpit hair and all.

I wish I could say I was doing this to be an example for other women, but to be honest, I am doing it for myself, which is the most important motivation – isn’t it?

I know, one day, I will probably shave or wax my miniature arm guerrillas again – either as a reset or for special events, but that should be my decision and not society’s. As long as I am shaving or not shaving because that is what I want to do, then that is my choice to make.

Sometimes, being human and all, I have my doubts about my decision, and on one particular day, I put Adam in an extremely awkward situation by asking what he honestly thought about my new arm Furbies. Even he thought they looked “pretty good” and “just naturally you and by ‘you’, I mean bad-ass.” He doesn’t even notice them anymore because they are apart of who I am now.

I know many of you probably don’t agree with me or Adam, for that matter, and that is also your choice. Just like Planet Fitness, this is a judgement-free zone. But, if there is one takeaway you get from this, just remember to DO WHAT MAKES YOU HAPPY!

As for me, all I know is that I’m currently enjoying taking my arm chinchillas for a swim every morning during our surfing lessons!