By
Kathleen Walsh,
an evening blogger, writing about news, pop culture, and politics.
She is also a contributor to Vulture, and her writing has appeared in Glamour, Cosmopolitan, The Independent, InStyle, and more.
Bush maintenance has always been my least-favorite grooming ritual. There was a time when I dutifully took myself to the salon once a month and paid a nice woman $70 to apply hot wax to my labia and rip all the hair away. It never left me feeling clean or fresh. Mostly, I felt sore and self-conscious that the only reason I did this was to fulfill a vague dictate of modern femininity — and, of course, for the approval of the men I dated.
