Indivivualize Me by Jennifer

Indivivualize Me by Jennifer - March 2017 Scholarship Essay

Emma turned to me suddenly as we stood waiting in line at McDonald’s.

“Why don’t you shave, Jen?” she asked.

It was a question I had fielded from others many times before. My response was quick and pre-made, like a McDouble.

“Why should I?”

Her face quirked in thought. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you why I shouldn’t shave: it hurts, it can cause infections, it costs money, and it takes up time that I could use for something more productive.” I rattled off my list as easily as my regular McDonald’s order. “So, can you tell me why I should shave?”

“No,” she said hesitantly, “when you put it like that, it makes sense not to.”

I smiled, “Exactly.”

The line moved us up to the counter where we ordered and got our food.

Our other friend, Daryn, who had sworn off fast food, was saving a booth for us. Her order, two bags of apple slices, was already half eaten when we sat down. Her distaste for the fast food giant is similar to my disenchantment with body hair removal and other common beauty practices. But while she was done in by a young, ambitious, independent filmmaker, prom is to blame for my actions, or more accurately, inactions.

During freshman year health class, we had watched Supersize Me, the story of a man who ate McDonald’s orders three times a day for a month. The film documented his stomach-heaving experience as he struggled to keep down his increasingly unappetizing meals of burgers, fries, and shakes. The footage had its intended effect on Daryn. A relatively healthy eater before seeing the film, she immediately swore off  McDonald’s. It was a little inconvenient for her when the sports bus stopped there on the drive back from away games, and she received a little ribbing from our friends who loved to eat McChurgers (a McChicken within a McDouble), but she was firm in her resolve to avoid anything that could be supersized.

That same year, I was invited to prom by a senior I barely knew (as a last resort, I’m sure, because he had been shot down by everyone else he’d asked in our small high school). Before prom, my efforts toward beautification were minimal. I didn’t wear makeup, I didn’t buy expensive clothes, and I usually wore my long hair pulled back out of my face in a sloppy ponytail. The traditions of prom came into conflict with these habits; prom was beautification - supersized. An overpriced dress was the Big Mac, precariously high heels were the fries, and the combination of mascara, nail polish, and hairspray that coated my body was the shake. When the evening of glamor was over, I felt sick. The effort it took to maintain my artificial appearance all night made me tired, the guilt of being so wasteful made my stomach churn, and the pointlessness of it all made my temperature rise. The next morning, I swore off frivolous beauty practices. I shut my shaving razors away in a drawer and traded my ponytail for a pixie cut.

The reaction to my new haircut and my shaving abstinence was rather intense.

Lifting my arms caused a lot of rubbernecking, rumors about my sexual orientation floated through the high school halls, and testosterone-filled teenagers in the stands found me to be an easy target for their mean-spirited taunts during sports events.

But I discovered looks can’t kill, whispers don’t maim, and tears won’t drown me. When those thoughts weren’t convincing enough, I sought refuge in the internet, googling “women who don’t shave” to prove I was not crazy, or, if crazy, at least not alone.

What I want Emma and everyone else at my school to learn from my trials is that not shaving is just another option on the Dollar Menu of life.  Everyone has their own orders, and everyone should be allowed to get what is right for them. Mine is an uncommon order, about as rare as two bags of apple slices, but I think it’s the healthier choice for me, and I’m loving it.