As a proud lesbian feminist I have campaigned for years against the beauty industry and cosmetic surgery. I have never worn makeup, except once, as an experiment for these pages, and for years I even refused to wear a bra – until I had to dress up in vaguely smart clothing occasionally for work.
But we all have an achilles heel, and mine is facial hair. I hate it, both on myself and other women. I have a particular terror of fuzz appearing on my face, and always carry one lone item of beauty equipment: tweezers. Luckily, I am not particularly afflicted, although in recent years I have noticed one long black hair that sprouts from my left cheek, another under my chin, and a few barely noticeable ones above my lip. The second they appear they are instantly torn asunder.
My fear of the fuzz is hardly unusual. Even in the thick of the late 1970s women's movement, I remember a close friend – a fellow lesbian and hard-line feminist – confessing, "I'm so glad I discovered electrolysis before feminism!"
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