Don’t forget the herbicide

I hardly know what to say. Trim the topiary “until all all that’s left for me to see is tu-lips on the mound?” If that’s not subtle enough, the commercial also has a model stroking her pussy cat after taking a weed whacker to her bush. Got it. Thank you very much.

When, when, WHEN are we going to get past this obsession with the state of women’s vulvas? At the risk of kicking off another sh*t storm like I aroused the last time I talked about women and shaving, women’s bodies have hair. Even “down there,” no matter how unpopular that may be at the moment. A high percentage of women struggle with body image issues and the shame ingrained at puberty about our developing sexual characteristics. Now Quattro tries to capitalize on that insecurity to sell their product.

I grew up with television ads for Summer’s Eve and other disposal douches, scented like flowers and pine trees, anything to keep a woman from smelling like a woman. My gynecologist told me that those products could single-handedly keep him in business treating infections, yet a dozen brands and scents lined the feminine hygiene section of the drugstore. (A side thought – does the current generation who are so fond of calling people they consider stupid “douchebags” even know what one is?) We were supposed to be so afraid of the natural scent of our bodies that we would willingly inject chemicals into our vaginas to cure us of that nastiness. If we didn’t, we were unclean and uncouth.

Soon, scouring the inside wasn’t enough. In 1982, when I had my first baby, upon being admitted to the obstetrics floor, the first thing I was subjected to was an enema and a pubic shave “to eliminate the germs.” Can’t have the baby coming in contact with something that has touched a vagina, I guess. The shave happened again in 1986, with my second child. But by the time I had #3 in 1990 I had a woman OB, who had also given birth, and who laughed at the idea that hair was dirty and unsanitary. If I was truly uncomfortable with my cleanliness, I was welcome to take a shower, but she didn’t consider it necessary. Surprise, surprise. The baby didn’t emerge covered with any life-threatening infections, and I felt much less like a petri dish full of nasty little colonies.

And now it’s the shape of our pubic hair. What I do with mine (horrors! I have some!) is my business, and I don’t need anyone telling me it should be a triangle, a landing strip or a heart. And frankly, any man who would sneer in disgust at me for the shape it’s in is cordially invited to wax his own.

Our bodies are beautiful just as they are. If you choose to modify yours, that’s your business. But don’t be shamed into it by advertising or some misguided belief that men won’t want you if you don’t look like a little girl. It just ain’t so. If it is, baby, you’ve got more serious problems then whether you’ve “mowed the lawn.”

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