The Savage Inanity Of Neon Female Armpit Hair

The New York Times has finally caught wind of the female armpit hair-dyeing fad, which of course means that it is officially no longer trendy.

But if you happen to be a neurotypical, cultureless, passive-oppressor, you may not have heard that some female activists have decided that your expectation that they shave their armpits is the reason there aren’t more women working in the tech industry, or something. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never particularly cared—it’s still your fault.

In order to throw off these conveniently invisible shackles, they have started dyeing their armpit hairs in bright, funky colors to protest what they see as another symptom of the patriarchy. Their stated goal is to smash society’s standard of beauty—or force us all to be okay with their sloth—however you want to perceive it.

Well, a thousand privileged pardons if I appear to be “tone-deaf’ or if you get the impression that this is “the hill I want to die on,” but this whole pity party reeks of insincerity.

One of the activists in the article bemoaned that the attention she’s receiving about her neon pits is for all the wrong reasons and that it shouldn’t be considered a “big deal.” She says this while uploading the video to YouTube, writing an article about it, and doing an interview with The New York Times.

They say it’s not about attention seeking—yet most of the quotes from the aforementioned article appear to cast serious doubt on their noble assertions that they’re merely looking for passive-acceptance.

“If people don’t think that my blue armpit hair is funny, then they probably aren’t worth my time…It’s really great for turning off people who aren’t accepting.”

What kind of asshole bases their friendships on one lame “joke”?

“We love defiance.”

So long as it’s in a consequence-free, Western culture.

A hairstylist at a “feminist-leaning salon” claims a customer “came in to get them (pits dyed) done because she was going on a family vacation and wanted to freak out her in-laws.”

And perhaps the most cringe-inducing, “When I see myself naked in the mirror, I laugh every time, because I think it’s hilarious and kind of awesome.”

It obvious that these acts are more like provocation—bitter biddies actively trying to alienate people who most likely didn’t give too much a shit in the first place.

Another reason for their ire is that men are supposedly celebrated for doing nothing to maintain their self-image, while women are spending hours upon hours curating themselves (isn’t the time required for dyeing every hair on your body longer than shaving part of it?). This is illustrated in the equally dumb Dad Bod phase, which was started by a woman (a dad broad?), and sent personal choice fascists into a tizzy—lamenting that men get to try less while women primp themselves in order to look good for us (but you keep telling me you’re looking good for yourself!) One author calls the phenomenon an “atrocity." So fellow female allies are letting their follicles fly as a middle finger to society’s unrealistic demands that they don’t look like transient, homeless clowns (if they really want to break down barriers, maybe try dating only morbidly obese gamers). But blaming this standard on the phantom patriarchy rings hollow considering that the beauty world is run by women and gay men.

Their message is clear contradiction: Women’s sexual preferences are liberating and empowering, while men’s tastes are oppressive and demeaning. It’s a new chapter in the ongoing battle to make the personal hang-ups of the mentally ill into our problem.

If you really hate the lethargy that has gripped modern men, then give yourself a nice dose of self-hatred, because feminism, in its zeal to eradicate testosterone, has zapped the life-blood out of most Western males—leaving them a frustrated, flabby mess, unable to socialize with women, which is most likely the real reason girls are so frustrated in the first place. And that isn’t just my douche posturing. Science has actually shown that testosterone levels are dropping. I’ve also observed this in every café and bar in my hipster, gentrified neighborhood where straight guys now have the “gay voice.” Colleges should really start making students take classes on unintended consequences.

Judging by the photographs on Instagram, the only dudes who are on board with these militant pit soldiers are meek-looking lap dogs that give the impression of spending their days on a leash lavishly worshipping women who are probably disgusted by them. These allies weirdly hang out in groups of politically identical gals, I’m guessing waiting for a treat. It’s just pitiful.

*cough*

*clears throat*

Let me also take the time to shoot down the bullshit idea that men have never had “unrealistic” body ideals thrust upon them by the media. How many action-movie stars or superheroes can you name that have the body shape of Philip Seymour Hoffman? Even the universally likeable Chris Pratt says there is bias for ripped dudes in Hollywood, stating that he didn’t start getting major movie role offers until he got ripped.

Like most kids growing up in the late 80s and early 90s, I was a huge fan of macho one-man-army movies such as Rambo and Terminator. Comic books in the 90s were also notorious for their ridiculously jacked superheroes—creating muscle groups that didn’t even exist. There wasn’t an action-figure I had that didn’t have an eight pack. Christ, even the X-Men’s old, wheelchair bound professor was ripped! The only character I can recall that wasn’t a muscle monster was super villain The Blob, whose superpower was to be fat—everyone hated him.

Look, I’m not one to share my sexual tastes because I’m apparently the last human on earth that thinks they should be kept private, but just because I prefer women to be hairless everywhere but their head and vagina doesn’t mean I care enough about it to start a movement. In fact I don’t remember even ONCE hearing a guy broach the topic. And I come from the Boston area, which is probably the last bastion of masculine bros left among this country’s topknot topography of bearded beta males. I also find it creepy, invasive and hypocritical that you feel the need to redefine my personal standards on beauty when you would obviously hector me to no end if I even attempted to meddle with your personal tastes.

Yet many women are still determined to prove that men have a problem with their personal choices, but as far as I can tell, the only problem that they have (aside from not being personally attracted to it) is that women insist that they have a problem with it.

Women of the once great Western world, I’ll always encourage you, if asked, to pursue your happiness, however silly I may think it is, with the caveat that you don’t make it my problem. Your feelings are not my responsibility.

Men, I say don’t give in to the hostility. If you find yourself on the other side of some bizarrely aggressive pit fighter looking for any excuse to reach up high for low hanging fruit, act nonchalant. Once your stubborn indifference infuriates them and they press you on what you think of their pity protest, simply shrug and respond with a lackadaisical, “I didn’t even notice.” It will destroy their world.