Hairy legs

and gender roles and rules

Dear Lucy,

I’ve finally accepted that it’s too late to have hairy legs.

It’s also too late for underarm hair.

No make-up.

No bra.

I wanted to take back my power you see, from the Patriarchy, so I’ve tried them all, except the bra. But I’m too institutionalised.

Do you remember in Spring, we took a peek? At the legs? After the initial shock, for there was a winter’s worth of enthusiastic growth, you said you’d get used to them if I really wanted to keep them. What a good friend you are.

And, whilst I was a bit fascinated by them; the sight of them, the feel of them - soft, golden and luxurious - feminine but undeniably and unforgivably masculine, I knew then that it was too late. At least for me.

It got me thinking about gender roles and gender rules. What does it actually mean to be and look feminine and masculine?

Job descriptions

I know things have changed a lot, but for our generation, being feminine meant being: Sweet, quiet, pretty, pleasing, sexy, caring, soft and gentle, slim, compliant. Funny, perhaps, but the sweet and understated kind of funny, not the rip-roaring, belly-laughing kind.

I certainly didn’t feel like I matched the female profile and have, for most of my life, felt a bit ‘less than.’ So do a lot of women.

And poor men. Surely their troubles are related to their job description: a strong, handsome, muscular and heroic provider; brave, certain and stoic. It’s not hard to see the pressure.

And of course, we all had (and to some degree, still do) a uniform to match: Men in strong dark, sure colours; blue, black and grey. Women in pretty colours and frills, and of course, beautifully smooth, hair-free legs.

All nice and compartmentalised, all nice and clear.

Fitting in vs self-expression

And because we’re hard-wired not to stand out, we do what’s expected apart from the brave few, even if it costs us a bit - or a lot - of ourselves. But if everyone expressed themselves faithfully, then, in that we’d be united and collectively happier. Wouldn’t we?

Could that then lead to something even more unthinkable? That we wouldn’t feel ashamed of our less pleasing gender-prescribed aspects? The physical ‘us’: Our height and waist lines to the size and shape of our body parts - hair and all, to the inner ‘us’: Our passions and desires, and of course, how we express ourselves: What we say, how we say it; the tone and volume of our voices and so much more?

And maybe this last one is the hardest, especially for women (just the other day one of my male fellow radio presenters referred to Chappel Roan as ‘a handful’). But what if we could express ourselves naturally? Leaving our volume controls and opinions unchecked, risk being ‘too much,’ stop editing ourselves and be truly free.

Sound familiar?

Masks

But maybe the external stuff needs to change first, maybe it paves the way for the inner stuff. People have been expressing themselves behind the safety of masks for a very, very long time.

What if true self-expression is the ultimate, authentic mask?

But this is 2025 and things have changed A LOT. In what seems the blink of a mascara’d eye, we have men hosting knitting shows and heralded female footballers winning Strictly. Genuinely inconceivable only a few years ago.

Change is messy

But change is messy though in this case it shouldn’t be. Gender roles are fluid because they are man-made; created, like most stories, to help us understand and make sense of the world and convince ourselves that we’re somehow in control - ultimately, to feel safe. But whose safety are we protecting and at what cost?

I think this is why everyone gets their frilly knickers in a twist on this topic, but just think about how uncomfortable people used to get about women even playing football and men - until Gazza - shedding a tear.

So let’s keep making a mess. Keep questioning, disrupting and re-imagining all the ingrained but creaking stories we’ve been sold for as long as we can remember. The world isn’t flat, women are great at football and the jive and men can, and do cry.

Keeping my power … and my razor

I’m determined to keep an open mind and keep challenging the restrictions I operate under. To learn from young people leading the way and to keep questioning old, dusty beliefs. But, on the subject of my hairy legs, I’m giving in.

When Spring comes or the hairs start poking through my winter tights I’ll top up my razor supply. I’ll give in with grace and accept that I’m allowing myself to be institutionalised on this matter. That way, I keep my power and my razor.

Photo by Максим Рыжкин on Unsplash