Confession: Don’t be jealous, but I am totally fine with my
armpits. Call me an arrogant rube, call me body-shame ignorant, but prior to
the Dove campaign to beautify the pits, I didn’t even know I was supposed to hate them. Now I refuse to
hate them so that I might one day grow to love them — that’s what passes for
backbone in this country. I will remain stubbornly totally fine with them
forever because you can’t make me not.
To be clear, Dove has instructed us to love our pits, not hate them. Our pits
been gettin’ a raw deal, ladies! But there’s a step missing in this message,
no? In order to accept the premise that our armpits need loving, we have to
believe that they are currently unloved or somehow neglected. I’d say given
that most women probably wash, shave, and deodorize their pits on the reg in
this country (at least as far back as the year 1915, alongside the appearance of sleeveless dresses), pits are
getting EXACTLY the amount of attention they require, prolly even more than required.
So I ask you: Doesn’t loving a thing you never thought
needed love require looking at the thing, seeing plain as day its awful
grotesqueness, and then deciding, nay, learning
to like it one desperate, clinging step at a time? Because count me out.
It feels very much like they’ve started a conversation
literally no one was having, only to rush in with a solution to the problem we
didn’t have. Now I’m not saying they are wrong when they claim the term armpit
is a pejorative — calling
a place the armpit of a place is the stinky not-awesome part of a place —
surely we can all agree on that. But that is a world apart from some general
idea that women are walking around, pits hung in shame, in need of some TLC-on-pit
action. (Yes, everyone feels bad when they sweat a bunch in inappropriate
settings, but that’s a different issue, one deodorant has long tackled.)
I for one can’t immediately start loving what I’m only indifferent
to. Nor can I immediately love what I loathe either. I must work to love a
thing I never even knew needed love, which means giving it attention, and
energy, and scrutiny, and then mindfulness and acceptance, and then, yeah,
sure, of course, swiping a product of some kind over it hastily just in case
that might speed things up. WHATEVER IT TAKES.
Hey, you know what? Your pits are totally fucking fine. They
are great. Fantastic, even. They are doing a job like a motherfucking champ. In the right light, they are good enough for the whole world to see
for the entire eighth of a second it takes to lift your arm and wave to that guy
or gal you want to like your armpits so badly over to your table, a table that just so
happens to be filled with an assortment of foods (that just so happen to be good
for armpits, like probably apricots and olives and sparkling water).
Nevermind that in order to love your pits the most ever
you’d probably stop shaving them altogether. If we’re going to get technical
about it, wouldn’t that keep from stripping them of the natural things they
need to stay how they are supposed to be to do their job and everything? What’s
the word for that? Ah yes, authentic. “Real.” Authentic pits are probably
un-messed-with pits, right? I mean, I’m not saying you can’t hot wax the shit
out of your pits every day — go to pit town — I’m just saying words mean things
and we haven’t changed that yet have we? (Except for literally.)
Speaking of words, Dove is only trying to make armpits a
good word, you guys. From the NYT:
… and is part of a broader
advertising campaign that encourages the flaunting of that part of the body and
discourages pejorative uses of the word “armpit.”
Oh, and also to get you to flaunt them more. Sorry — BUZZER — key strategy I neglected to
mention. They also want you to love them so much you show them more, so do a
lot more waving (unless you’re over 40 — duh, arm flab) and show the pits (as long as you’ve Nutriumed them first).
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