Hair-itage

I was eight at Jewish summer camp when the girls in my cabin threw a waxing party. I opted out. Still, when I got home, I told my mom something would have to be done about my leg hair. Hair removal was happening, and it was happening now. My mother, determined to keep my body as intact as possible, for as long as possible, proposed bleach. A year later, I returned to camp with white leg hair. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. “It makes your legs look tan,” hairless Jessie Weinstein assured me. “I can’t shave either,”...

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