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A Straight Dope Classic from Cecil’s Storehouse of Human Knowledge

May 18, 2009
A Straight Dope Classic from Cecil’s Storehouse of Human Knowledge

Who decided women should shave their legs and underarms?

February 6, 1991

Dear Cecil:

Why do women shave their legs and underarms? When did this custom begin? If it’s for hygienic reasons, why don’t men to it too? Is it all a big conspiracy by the razor companies? I’ve heard some European women don’t shave. Please clarify this mystery.

Dear A.:

I knew if I procrastinated long enough on this often-asked question somebody would eventually do the legwork for me. Sure enough, Pete Cook of Chicago has sent me a 1982 article from the Journal of American Culture by Christine Hope bearing the grand title “Caucasian Female Body Hair and American Culture.”

The gist of the article is that U.S. women were browbeaten into shaving underarm hair by a sustained marketing assault that began in 1915. (Leg hair came later.) The aim of what Hope calls the Great Underarm Campaign was to inform American womanhood of a problem that till then it didn’t know it had, namely unsightly underarm hair.

To be sure, women had been concerned about the appearance of their hair since time immemorial, but (sensibly) only the stuff you could see. Prior to World War I this meant scalp and, for an unlucky few, facial hair. Around 1915, however, sleeveless dresses became popular, opening up a whole new field of female vulnerability for marketers to exploit.

According to Hope, the underarm campaign began in May, 1915, in Harper’s Bazaar, a magazine aimed at the upper crust. The first ad “featured a waist-up photograph of a young woman who appears to be dressed in a slip with a toga-like outfit covering one shoulder. Her arms are arched over her head revealing perfectly clear armpits. The first part of the ad read ‘Summer Dress and Modern Dancing combine to make necessary the removal of objectionable hair.'”

Within three months, Cook tells us, the once-shocking term “underarm” was being used. A few ads mentioned hygiene as a motive for getting rid of hair, but most appealed strictly to the ancient yearning to be hip. “The Woman of Fashion says the underarm must be as smooth as the face,” read a typical pitch.

The budding obsession with underarm hair drifted down to the proles fairly slowly, roughly matching the widening popularity of sheer and sleeveless dresses. Antiarm hair ads began appearing in middlebrow McCall’s in 1917. Women’s razors and depilatories didn’t show up in the Sears Roebuck catalog until 1922, the same year the company began offering dresses with sheer sleeves. By then the underarm battle was largely won. Advertisers no longer felt compelled to explain the need for their products but could concentrate simply on distinguishing themselves from their competitors.

The anti-leg hair campaign was more fitful. The volume of leg ads never reached the proportions of the underarm campaign. Women were apparently more ambivalent about calling attention to the lower half of their anatomy, perhaps out of fear that doing so would give the male of the species ideas in a way that naked underarms didn’t.

Besides, there wasn’t much practical need for shaved legs. After rising in the 1920s, hemlines dropped in the 30s and many women were content to leave their leg hair alone. Still, some advertisers as well as an increasing number of fashion and beauty writers harped on the idea that female leg hair was a curse.

Though Hope doesn’t say so, what may have put the issue over the top was the famous WWII pinup of Betty Grable displaying her awesome gams. Showing off one’s legs became a patriotic act. That plus shorter skirts and sheer stockings, which looked dorky with leg hair beneath, made the anti-hair pitch an easy sell.

Some argue that there’s more to this than short skirts and sleeveless dresses. Cecil’s colleague Marg Meikle (Dear Answer Lady, 1992) notes that Greek statues of women in antiquity had no pubic hair, suggesting that hairlessness was some sort of ideal of feminine beauty embedded in Western culture. If so, a lot of Western culture never got the message. Greek women today (and Mediterranean women generally) don’t shave their hair. The practice has been confined largely to English-speaking women of North America and Great Britain, although one hears it’s slowly spreading elsewhere.

So what’s the deal with Anglo-Saxons? Some lingering vestige of Victorian prudery? Good question, but what with world unrest, the economic crisis, and the little researchers having missed their naps, not high on Cecil’s priority list. Here’s hoping some all-but-thesis Ph.D. candidate will pick up the trail.

Have chastity belts ever been used on men?

February 17, 1978

Dear Cecil:

Have chastity belts ever been used on men?

Dear Judy:

We live in an egalitarian age, my sweet. The Pleasure Chest, a New York-based chain of erotic appliance stores, makes and markets a tasteful little item it calls a “Male Chastity Device,” which consists of a metal tube that is slipped over the penis and fastened around the testicles with a chain and padlock. As you can imagine, this makes tumescence decidedly unpleasant.

But there are earlier, much cruder methods of enforcing male chastity as well. Take male infibulation, for instance, which ranks up there with female circumcision on the list of quack medical procedures once (and in some places, still) practiced in this world. Infibulation basically involves pulling the foreskin down over the tip of the penis (obviously you have to be uncircumcised for this to be feasible), drilling a couple holes in it, and clamping the whole thing in place with a ring or thread. This prevented sexual activity, and from the sound of it it probably made the more prosaic bodily functions rather problematic as well.

The history of the procedure stretches back some two millennia. Enforcing the celibacy of one’s spouse was only an incidental application, although there is a medieval story about a Frenchman who woke up to find his penis padlocked and his Portuguese mistress in possession of the key. In ancient Rome infibulation was most common among comic actors and musicians, who believed that discouraging erections would help them preserve their voices. In that respect it was certainly an improvement over the alternative, castration, in that it wasn’t permanent.

Infibulation fell into disuse until the early 19th century, when it was resurrected by one Karl August Weinhold, a professor of surgery and medicine at the University of Halle. He came up with the notion of rounding up all the poverty-level bachelors between the ages of 14 and 30 and infibulating them with a soldered lead wire, in hopes of keeping the population down. A novel feature of his plan was the proposed addition of a lead seal, which the authorities could inspect from time to time to make sure you hadn’t availed yourself of a wirecutter on the sly.

Understandably the Weinhold plan did not go over in a big way with the unmarried males of the day, but it later found limited application in the treatment of masturbation, which, among other things, was believed to cause “fatuity.” (Maybe they were on to something there.) At any rate, one could read in the medical journals such testimony as the following, written in 1876 by a fearless medical pioneer by the name of D. Yellowlees: “The sensation among the patients was extraordinary. I was struck by the conscience-stricken way in which they submitted to the operation on their penises. I mean to try it on a large scale, and go on wiring all masturbators.” If you think your life is rotten now, be glad you weren’t alive in 1876.

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How high can classical dancers leap?

February 24, 1978

Dear Cecil:

How high do classical dance performers jump? When I saw Baryshnikov dance in “The Turning Point,” it seemed like he got pretty far off the ground. Also, do men jump higher than women (that is, ballet dancers)? Or are they just given more chances to show off their jumping abilities?

Dear Willa:

Your average male dancer is expected to be able to leap somewhere between four and five feet off the ground. Baryshnikov, though, is an exception: on a good day, with a good wind, he can reach six feet. Not bad for a little fella (he stands 5’8″ in his leotard feet), especially considering the world’s record for the high jump, which was in the neighborhood of eight feet last time we looked.

Male dancers do leap higher than their female counterparts, but while this has something to do with the advantages of height and muscular development, it’s also a consequence of the prejudices built into classical choreography and training. A leap has long been considered a more “masculine” movement (for reasons which elude this casual observer), and training, consequently, has tended to emphasize the development of this ability in the male. So next time you start disparaging some danseur’s manliness, make sure you’re out of range.

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