I became acutely aware of my body hair when I was in second grade. A girl in my class grabbed my arm and asked why I was so hairy â an insecurity I didn't have until that very moment. That night I used my mom's razor to hack at the fuzz on my arms, leaving me with mismatched patches of hair, bloodied nicks, and a scar that I still have nearly 20 years later. I started shaving my legs in the fourth grade, when the girls in class laughed at how hairy I was. I started bleaching my mustache in the fifth grade after an adult family member told me it was getting noticeably dark. I started pluc...