That’s the bold, uncomfortable truth we don’t talk about when we’re sober. We spend an ungodly amount of time, money, and emotional labor trying to look like we’ve been airbrushed by a deity, all while forgetting that we are, at our core, mammals. We are hairy, sweaty, slightly asymmetrical animals. And yet, the question “Is this normal?” haunts us more than almost anything else in the bedroom.
The answer is simple, but it’s hard to swallow: Everything is normal, and nothing is normal. Your body is not a trend. It is a biological fact. But we live in a world that tries to convince us our biology is a flaw that needs to be corrected with a monthly wax subscription.
The Pornography Tax and the Death of the Natural
We have to address the elephant in the room. Or rather, the lack of hair on the elephant.
Most of us came of age in an era where digital intimacy was the primary teacher. And the images we see in that space are not representative of humanity; they are representative of a specific, high-maintenance aesthetic. In that world, hair is a sin. It’s something to be eradicated, scorched, and banished.
This has created what I call the “Pornography Tax.” It’s the mental and physical toll we pay to try and match an image that was never meant to be real. When you see a body on a screen that is perfectly smooth from the neck down, you aren’t seeing “normal.” You’re seeing a professional performance. You’re seeing lighting, angles, and likely a lot of very expensive laser treatments.
But your brain doesn’t know that. Your brain sees the image and then looks down at your own reflection. It sees the curls, the thickness, the way the hair migrates toward the thighs or up toward the belly button, and it sounds an alarm. Something is wrong with me. This isn’t just about vanity. It’s about the nervous system. When you feel “abnormal,” your body enters a state of low-grade shame. Shame is a physiological freeze response. It tightens your muscles, shallows your breath, and disconnects you from your own pleasure. You cannot be fully present with a partner if you are mentally auditing your bikini line. If you want to move past this, you have to start by how to build sexual confidence and body positivity on your own terms, away from the glare of someone else’s expectations.
The Biology of the Bush
Let’s talk about why the hair is there in the first place. Evolution doesn’t do things by accident. Pubic hair isn’t a cosmic joke designed to make you suffer in a swimsuit. It’s a protective barrier.
It’s there to reduce friction. Sex, as wonderful as it is, involves a lot of skin-on-skin rubbing. Without that buffer of hair, you’re looking at increased irritation and a higher likelihood of micro-tears in the skin. It’s also a trap for pheromones—those subtle chemical signals that tell our primitive brains that we’re attracted to someone.
When we remove it all, we’re essentially stripping away a layer of our natural defense system. This is why so many people suffer from chronic ingrown hairs, folliculitis, or general “down there” discomfort. We’re fighting against a design that was built for our own comfort.
And yet, the “cleanliness” myth persists. I’ve had clients tell me they feel “dirty” if they have hair. That’s a powerful word. Dirty. It implies that nature itself is a contaminant.
Let me be blunt: Hair is not dirt. Hair is part of your anatomy. You can be perfectly hygienic with a full bush, and you can be incredibly unhygienic with a Brazilian wax. Hygiene is about soap and water, not the density of your follicles. We need to untangle the idea of “groomed” from the idea of “clean.”
Shame and the Attachment Wound
Why do we care so much? Why does the sight of a stray hair feel like a personal failure?
It usually goes back to attachment. Most of us are terrified of being rejected. We think that if we show up as our raw, unedited selves, our partner will recoil. We use grooming as a shield. If I am “perfect,” I am safe. If I am “smooth,” I am lovable.
This is a form of “fawning.” Fawning is a trauma response where we try to please others to avoid conflict or abandonment. We shave because we think it’s what they want. We wax because we’re afraid they’ll think we’re gross. We are performing for an audience that might not even be asking for the show.
I’ve talked to so many men who tell me, “Honestly, I don’t care about the hair. I just want her to be comfortable.” And I’ve talked to so many women who say, “I hate waxing, but I don’t want him to think I’ve let myself go.”
Do you see the disconnect? We are both suffering in silence, trying to meet a standard that neither of us actually cares about that much.
But when we do meet that one partner who makes a comment—the one who says “Ugh, you’re prickly”—it hits us right in the attachment wound. It confirms our worst fear: that we are only acceptable when we are modified. If you’re with someone who makes your natural body feel like a problem to be solved, that’s not a grooming issue. That’s a relationship issue. Understanding the role of hygiene in a healthy sex life is about mutual respect and health, not about one person dictating the landscape of another’s body.
The Power Dynamics of the Shave
There is a subtle power play in the way we talk about pubic hair. For a long time, the expectation of total hairlessness was placed almost exclusively on women. It was a sign of youth, of docility, of being “ready.” It sanitized the adult female body, making it look more like a child’s.
That’s a heavy psychological truth to sit with.
In recent years, the “manscaping” trend has hit men, too. Now everyone is standing in the shower with a trimmer, trying to make things look “bigger” or “neater.” While it’s nice that the pressure is being shared, it’s still more pressure. It’s another thing to do. Another way to fail.
When you let someone else’s preference dictate your physical reality, you are handing over a piece of your autonomy. You are saying, “My comfort is less important than your visual preference.”
I’m not saying you should never shave. If you love the way you feel when you’re smooth—if it makes you feel like a sleek, sexy seal—then go for it. Power to you. But if you’re doing it with a sigh and a grimace, you need to ask yourself who you’re doing it for.
Real intimacy requires a level of vulnerability that can’t be achieved through a razor. It requires you to say, “This is me. This is my body. This is how it grows.” If your partner can’t handle a little bit of hair, how are they going to handle the messy reality of aging? How are they going to handle illness, or pregnancy, or just the general wear and tear of life?
The first time someone sees you naked can be a source of massive stress, but it’s also a litmus test for the relationship.
Communicating the Prickle
So, how do you handle the “hair talk”?
Ideally, you don’t wait until the lights are off and the clothes are coming off. That’s a high-stakes moment where everyone is feeling exposed.
You talk about it like you talk about anything else. “Hey, I’m trying out a more natural look lately, just FYI.” Or, “I get really bad razor burn, so I usually just trim.”
If they’re a decent human being, they’ll say, “Cool, thanks for letting me know.” If they’re not, they’ll make a face. And if they make a face, you’ve just saved yourself a lot of time. You’ve identified a person who values aesthetics over your physical comfort.
On the flip side, if you have a preference for your partner, how do you say it without being a dick?
You lead with your own experience. “I really love the way it feels when we’re skin-to-skin.” You don’t make it a demand. You make it a desire. And you have to be prepared for them to say no. Their body is their territory. You are a guest there. You don’t get to redecorate the guest room without permission.
We also have to consider that our drive for sex isn’t just about what we see. It’s about how we feel. If you’re so focused on the grooming that you’ve lost the plot on the actual pleasure, you need to recalibrate. Sometimes the focus on “normalcy” is just a distraction from deeper questions like is sexual desire normal and what experts say about the ebb and flow of our libidos.
When “Normal” Changes: Hormones and Aging
Hair density isn’t a static thing. It changes as we move through life.
Puberty brings it on like a flood. Pregnancy can make it go haywire. Menopause can make it thin out or migrate to places it never was before. Stress can cause it to fall out.
I’ve had clients in their 50s who are devastated because their “bush” is disappearing. They feel like they’re losing their womanhood. I’ve had others who are frustrated because they’re growing hair in new, “unfeminine” places.
This is where we have to be kind to our bodies. Your hormones are the directors of this play, and they don’t always follow the script. If you notice a sudden, dramatic change in your hair growth patterns—like you’re suddenly growing a beard or losing all your pubic hair overnight—it might be worth a trip to the doctor. But for the most part, it’s just the shifting tides of life.
It’s not a failure. It’s a transition. And it’s one you have to navigate with your partner.
The Freedom of “Good Enough”
The most radical thing you can do in the digital age is to be “good enough.”
You don’t have to be a top-tier groomer. You don’t have to be a pioneer of the natural movement. You can just… exist.
Maybe you trim sometimes. Maybe you shave for a special occasion. Maybe you let it grow for six months because you can’t be bothered.
The goal is to reach a place where your hair (or lack thereof) is the least interesting thing about you in the bedroom. You want to be a person who is so engaged with the sensation, the connection, and the heat of the moment that you wouldn’t notice a stray hair if it hit you in the face.
That is the height of sexual health. It’s the ability to let go of the “audit” and lean into the experience.
When you stop treating your body like a project, you free up a massive amount of mental energy. You can use that energy to actually enjoy your partner. You can use it to explore your own pleasure. You can use it to build the kind of intimacy that doesn’t care about stubble.
Ultimately, a partner who truly sees you will be much more interested in your eyes, your laugh, and the way you move than in the grooming of your genitals. If you are focused on building a deep connection, you’ll find that what makes a healthy relationship has everything to do with how you treat each other’s hearts and nothing to do with how you treat your hair.
Reclaiming the Mammal
I want you to take a breath.
Go look in the mirror. Not the “looking for flaws” mirror. The “this is my vessel” mirror.
Look at the hair. It’s been with you since you became an adult. It’s protected you. It’s a sign that your body is working, that your hormones are firing, and that you are a fully grown, sexual being.
It’s not an “ick.” It’s not a mistake. It’s just you.
The next time you find yourself reaching for a razor out of fear, put it down for a second. Ask yourself if you’re doing it because you want to, or because you’re afraid of what someone else will think. If it’s the latter, maybe give the razor a rest for a week. See what happens to your brain when you stop performing.
You might find that you feel more like yourself than you have in years. You might find that your partner doesn’t even notice. Or, better yet, you might find that they like the real you even better than the airbrushed version.
Stay human. Stay hairy if you want to. Or don’t. Just make sure the choice is yours.