Women's armpit hair is all the rage these days. The new smelly rage, but all the rage nonetheless, I suppose.
Humor Life

Armpit Hair Is the New Black. The New Smelly Black, That Is.

Women's armpit hair is all the rage these days. The new smelly rage, but all the rage nonetheless, I suppose.

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Apparently women’s armpit hair is the new thing. And by that I mean letting it grow out while you light some patchouli and dance around to The Zombies’ Time of the Season baked out of your mind is the new thing. (Or at least that’s what I imagine someone who consciously makes the decision to let her underarms look like Chewbacca would do.)

On one hand, this is great because it means my lazy ass is FINALLY en vogue. On the other hand, fucking gross.

When you let your big girl hairs grow out, you also invite Bernie the Bacteria and eleventy gazillion of his closest friends to take up residence in your sweaty arm vaginas where they proceed to throw stank parties until not even clinical strength deodorant can make you tolerable to be around.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I can’t figure out why a person would actually go out of her way to look like a cavewoman.

Personally, I can only go about 2-3 days without shaving before I start to feel like I’m peeling a sweaty ass off my grandmother’s plastic-covered davenport every time I try to lift my arms. I can’t even fathom what it would feel and smell like if I let that stuff get long enough to French braid.

Celebrities, from Madonna to Miley Cyrus, are embracing the female follicles and donning their own nasty pit pubes publicly, with some even going so far as to dye it bright colors, and some people are heralding this trend as a step forward for women when it comes to admonishing social standards of beauty and conformity, among other things.

UH, okaaaay.

I can think of a million other ways ladies could make a giant leap forward for women’s rights, including rallying for equal pay in the workforce and the right to quality education around the globe, but hell, what do I know? Who needs to fight to keep women from being beaten and raped in third world countries and to help victims of domestic violence at home flee their abusers?


Let’s just set the razors down, grow out some pit hairs, put some highlights all up in those bitches, and call it a day, shall we?┬áThat’ll bring us all the respect we demand and deserve.

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Clearly, I don’t understand. At all. But whatevs. If it makes the other ladies out there feel like rebels — beastly, smelly, Rainbow Brite rebels — go for it, I guess?

For my part, I’ll not fool myself into thinking my unshaven legs and spotty bikini area are some sort of “I am woman, hear me roar” battle cry. Instead, I’ll stick to calling it what it really is — a product of having too many kids to function on all cylinders and my overwhelming desire to hit snooze rather than spend time primping and coiffing.

Besides, I’m almost 100 percent certain if I added underarm smegma and smelling like a dude to my daily beauty regimen, I’d never have sex again. Not because my husband wouldn’t want to (trust me, they’ll take anything they can get), but because I couldn’t ask him to suffer through any more than he currently does.

I’m already rocking too much sexy as it is, you guys.