Every vagina has its own style, obviously. In the same way fashion and hairstyles change with the times, so does what goes on between a woman’s legs. And now more than ever, it feels like there’s a lot going on down there. For most women, pubic appearance is very intentional, meticulous, and labor intensive, and it has the potential to affect our confidence and behavior, too, despite most people having no clue what we look like without clothes on. It feels akin to women in Saudi Arabia wearing designer clothes and full makeup under their burqas. I’m sure there are women out there who have amazing vagina style, and only a handful of people will ever know about it.
The moment I started growing pubic hair was the moment I started shaving it off, and I continued my homemade Brazilians all throughout high school. It was never even a question—all my girlfriends shaved, we all knew hair was “gross,” and when we hooked up with guys, they expected us to be hairless. Of course, I had perpetual razor burn that made my vaj look like boiled chicken skin, and the irritation left me constantly clawing at my crotch under the desk at school, but that was a small price to pay to look like Barbie. After high school, I entered the era of the landing strip. The strip seemed to be the culturally endorsed “sexy” style of the moment in the early 2000s—as confirmed by so many Playboy Playmates of the time—and I wanted my crotch to be en vogue. But in dialectical fashion, this was followed by a customary ultra-feminist phase. I grew a full bush, and furiously blogged about how women should screw mainstream beauty standards and wear their giant, glorious, Madonna-in-the-80s style with pride! I even grew out my armpit hair for like a week before I got bored and shaved it off again.
It was only a couple years ago that I started waxing. I really don’t understand why it’s so popular—it’s expensive, painful, and you have to spend two weeks out of every five in an awkward stubble phase. The last time I got waxed, the lady made me get on all fours during the procedure and then lift my leg up like a peeing dog to “get my butt.” Never again . . . I’m now one of those archaic women who use a razor.
Which is why I feel compelled to say that it’s an overwhelming gyno-landscape. Today, we’re spoiled for options on ways to beautify our vaginas. To name a few: Pubic-hair dyeing (either to cover up grays or just to get experimental); toning/bleaching of the vulva with chemical lighteners; vajazzling (I don’t mean to be negative, but seriously, WTF?); conceptual waxing (the G-shaped pubes in Mario Testino’s 2003 Gucci campaign, anyone?); and, the latest trend, getting a facial for your vagina (aka a “vajacial”).
The vajacial is a revitalizing treatment, implemented post–Brazilian wax—a process that, many of us know, can be pretty grueling on the skin. The treatment involves exfoliation, calming masks, steaming, ingrown-hair extraction and lightening creams, and costs you around $50 to $60. My friend Suzie, a 32-year-old writer, swears by it (yet she prefaced her vajacial love by saying, “Please don’t judge me, but . . .”). She started vajacialing a few months ago, following a big weight loss and the start of a new romance. “I always get a Brazilian,” she told me. “But afterward my skin is always bright red and looks like it’s angry at me. The girl who waxes me said that a vajacial relaxes the whole area, so I figured, what the hell, why not do something nice for my vulva?” She now gets one every month, and says she feels like she looks better, and is more confident in bed. She said, “I know some people say it’s silly and stupid, but there’s people out there who bedazzle butterflies onto their pubis, for god’s sake. This feels way less creepy to me.”
The thing is, most beauty treatments can seem silly and unnecessary . . . until the moment you feel like you need it. I know many young women who scoff at older women who’ve gotten plastic surgery, but I suspect their tone might change as the years go by. I’ll admit, I used to think vulva- and anal-bleaching sounded ridiculous (and potentially dangerous), probably because I didn’t have insecurities about the color of my skin down there. That was until a recent night when, while tipsy, I curiously decided to take a picture of my butt. . . let’s just say, since then, I’ve been a lot less repelled and a lot more intrigued about the idea of skin lightening creams.
Currently, a close friend of mine is in the process of getting her pubic hair lasered off, and is trying to convince me that I should do the same. “After just six, moderately painful, $150 sessions you could be pube-free for life!” she said. I tried to tell her it was a bad idea, because bush might come back in style and then she would be out of luck, like those women who over-plucked their eyebrows in the 90s and now have to pencil them in. “What if you end up having to pencil in your vagina?” I asked her. She rolled her eyes and responded, “Literally, I’m like butter down there.” Unconvinced, I suggested she buy Cameron Diaz’s new book on body positivity, in which there’s a section titled “In Praise of Pubes.” What can’t be overlooked, though, is that this girl is extremely sexually successful, and I honestly think it has something to do with her high vagina confidence. Think of how frequently the opposite is true—i.e., “I couldn’t possibly go home with the guy who’s flirting with me, because I haven’t groomed.” When you feel good down there, you don’t mind showing it off.
And I think that’s kind of my point. In our post-feminist, lean-in but also lean-out Chris Kraus world, the politics of pubes are understood and, I think, respected. If you go full bush (like my friend Petra), that’s cool, but it’s like wearing vintage or something. But for most women, the motivation—what makes you grow it out or book that appointment—is about style. And I get that style is political, but we’re talking about our vaginas here. And the moment you get naked in bed with another person, the politics often fall away, and it becomes more about what makes you feel sexy and confident. Or at least it does for me.
What makes me feel vaj-positive these days is “the triangle”—a triangle of hair on top, bare by the vulva. And according to my waxologist friend, this is a pretty popular look at the moment. But I’m very particular about my triangle—it can’t be too small or too angular, and I like it trimmed short but not too short. I feel like aesthetically, the triangle is very classy and classic, while still being tidy and hygienic. And I also just think it looks better on me, which is what I’ve always suspected—certain vagina styles are more flattering on some people than others. Being curvy, I find that a bush offsets the wideness of my hips, whereas if you look like Kate Moss, you can go bare with no problem. But I also thought Jennifer Lawrence should have worn a different dress at the Golden Globes this Sunday. Sometimes, when it comes to a difference in taste, there’s not much more to be said.
Karley Sciortino writes the blog Slutever. Read her last post, “Does Size Matter?: Encounters with a Less-Endowed Partner.”
Hair: Eric Jamieson; Makeup: Georgi Sandev
On Sciortino: Organic by John Patrick faux fur Teddy coat, $1,140; For information: organicbyjohnpatrick.com; Carven technical crepe drape romper, $650; Carven, NYC, 646.684.4368
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