When I made the decision to stop shaving my legs and underarms for a full year, I had no idea how much it would change me. I wasn’t just ditching razors—I was shedding years of shame, societal pressure, and the idea that I needed to be uncomfortable to be considered beautiful.
This journey wasn’t about being rebellious or making a political statement—at least not at first. It was about curiosity. What would it feel like to live in a body that wasn’t constantly being altered to meet someone else’s standard? Could I still feel sexy, powerful, and confident with body hair? Could I embrace the natural version of myself that I had spent over a decade trying to hide?
As a fitness blogger, my appearance is part of my brand. I film workouts, take photos in athletic wear, and share my life with thousands of people online. I knew that not shaving would be visible. I knew people would notice. And I knew I’d have to deal with comments—both the supportive and the cruel.
But I had no idea just how deeply this decision would impact me.
Month 1: The Stubble Stage and Silent Anxiety
It started with skipped shaves. At first, I told myself I was just “too busy” or “letting my skin rest.” But the truth was, I was testing myself. Could I really go without shaving and still wear shorts at the gym? Could I raise my arms without subtly checking to see if anyone noticed?
The stubble came quickly, and so did the anxiety. I felt like a walking contradiction. Here I was preaching self-love and authenticity, yet I was scared to show my natural body in public. I layered on longer leggings. I wore oversized T-shirts. I avoided certain poses when filming workouts.
But something strange also started happening: I noticed how much time and mental energy I had previously spent worrying about this tiny, mostly invisible detail of my body. Suddenly, I had more freedom. More minutes in my day. More space in my brain.
Month 3: Comments, Critics, and a Spark of Confidence
By the third month, the hair on my legs and armpits was undeniably visible. I posted my first picture where my armpit hair showed—just a glimpse—and waited for the storm.
And it came.
Some comments were kind:
“Thank you for showing this. It’s so refreshing.”
“You’re inspiring me to question why I feel the need to shave.”
Others were less kind:
“Gross.”
“You looked better before.”
“Are you trying to be a man now?”
It stung. I won’t pretend it didn’t. But instead of deleting the post, I doubled down. I responded with grace. I asked questions. I challenged people gently: Why does my hair bother you so much? What are we afraid of when we see a woman with body hair?
I also began to notice something deeper: I wasn’t just growing hair. I was growing courage.
Month 6: Redefining Beauty on My Own Terms
Six months in, something incredible happened—I started to like how I looked. Not in spite of the hair, but because of it. My body looked more alive, more powerful, more… mine.
I saw the strength in my thighs, the definition in my calves. I saw softness and wildness and realness in my underarms. I looked in the mirror and thought, This is what a human looks like. This is what a woman looks like.
I realized how much of my previous beauty routine had been rooted in fear. Fear of judgment. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being “enough.”
Letting go of shaving became a metaphor for letting go of all the ways I had been trying to shrink myself, to fit into someone else’s mold. I was done with molds. I wanted to take up space.
Month 9: The Unexpected Support and Sisterhood
By month nine, I wasn’t just getting used to my new look—I was celebrating it. I shared full-body photos with unapologetic captions. I wrote blog posts about body autonomy and personal choice. I even got a message from a woman who said she let her daughter see my posts so she could grow up knowing that women don’t have to be hairless to be beautiful.
That message made me cry.
What shocked me most, though, was the number of women who said they had secretly wanted to stop shaving but felt too afraid. Too ashamed. Too worried about what their partners, friends, or coworkers would say.
I was overwhelmed by the silent sisterhood of women who had been quietly suffering under society’s expectations—women who had razor burn, ingrown hairs, and hours wasted in the shower, but who kept shaving because they didn’t feel like they had a choice.
If my tiny act of rebellion could help even one woman reclaim her body, it was worth every rude comment.
Month 12: Owning My Narrative and Closing the Loop
The final month rolled around, and I did something I never thought I’d do: I went to the beach in a bikini with my full natural self on display. Hairy legs. Hairy pits. A radiant smile.
People stared. Some looked confused. Some looked inspired. And one little girl, maybe 8 or 9, pointed and asked her mom, “Why does she have hair there?”
I held my breath.
Her mom replied, “Because that’s what bodies do.”
Yes. That’s what bodies do. They grow hair. They change. They shift. They don’t always conform to expectations—and they shouldn’t have to.
At the end of the year, I didn’t feel like I had to keep not shaving to prove a point. I had proven it to myself. This journey wasn’t about being anti-shaving—it was about being pro-choice. Pro-body. Pro-me.
What I Learned After 365 Days Without a Razor
- Shame is learned.
We weren’t born thinking body hair is gross. We were taught that. And if we were taught it, we can unlearn it. - Confidence doesn’t come from appearance—it comes from alignment.
When your actions match your values, confidence is a natural result. - People will always have opinions.
Let them. What matters most is the opinion you hold of yourself. - Beauty is not one-size-fits-all.
There is no single way to be beautiful. You get to define what beauty means for you. - Freedom is found in authenticity.
Living as your true self—even if it’s unconventional—is the most liberating thing you can do.
The Takeaway
I don’t think everyone needs to stop shaving. That’s not the point. This isn’t a campaign against razors—it’s a campaign for freedom. For choice. For asking yourself, “Am I doing this because I want to… or because I feel like I have to?”
If the answer is the latter, maybe it’s time to explore what life feels like when you stop trying to please everyone else—and start pleasing yourself.
Because the most beautiful thing you can be is yourself. Hair and all.