Guest columnist D. Sawyer is a writer, homemaker and conceptual artist who resides in Cleveland with her husband.
I’ve decided to cease most upkeep of my hygiene and expectations of woman until further notice. I’m so tired of the malaise that is my upkeep in general. Of my “womanly” expectations.
WHY do I feel this is something I have to do every single day? Shower. Shave. Shower. Shave. Shampoo. Brush. Condition. … Every day. The same, and for what? Why? To be perceived as “clean” and “normal” to people I don't even know?
That's it. No more. Today ... is the last day. Yep. I’ve decided I will not be washing my hair, shaving my armpits or any of the known ablutions that are automatically associated with, being a woman; it's all just done.
I said all of this to my husband five days ago, and he “man-giggled” at me. My husband is a traditionalist and quietly believes in gender roles as well as in women being women; by that statement, I am referring to his sneer anytime a woman with hairy armpits and legs flashes across the television and/or his presence. The same is to be said for his reaction to overly muscular women.
Over the years, I have spoiled him. He is of the firm and silent opinion that I should continue to wear makeup for our weekly errands, miscellaneous Walmart trips and other such errands. I know this by his reaction when I say, “OK, honey, I'm ready” and I am wearing absolutely no makeup.
I find his silence hysterically golden when I say to him: “I'll be ready to go in minute. I won't be doing my makeup today.” The air is still, and I am smirking a delighted smile in the next room when he finally replies, “Oh … OK, babe” with a rising inflection in his tone. It is truly hilarious because I know he loves it when I wear makeup.
It's been five days thus far and perhaps … I stink. I use the word perhaps from my own particular point of view, as I am certain that I do stink. My legs are furry enough to notice and my armpits are somewhat sticky. My scalp feels as if it needs to be scrubbed.
I feel liberated. I believe I may be the Rosie Riveter of Smell, the Joan of Arc of Hygiene Rebellion!
I live a pretty calm life, so to go on strike in a personal protest against the ideology of what it means to be woman is my stance against social norms. I know some of you may be of the opinion that I have reached a level of personal “eww.” However, please do realize that your reaction to my current hygiene status or lack thereof is your level of distaste; I have yet to reach my own. It’s only day five, and I'd like to see how far I can take this thing. Huge step for me; small awesome step for womankind.
Woman. Suspended.
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