Pubes are everywhere. Nope, I’m not looking in Seth Rogan’s
bath - I’m reading the papers. According to the Vagenda's own pubes correspondent Emer's 'Hair, Not The Musical' follow- up piece in The Guardian, bush pruning is a thing
of the past. A campaign, fronted by Cameron
Diaz of all people, is trying to
convince women to grow their well-tended lawns into great, resplendent meadows.
The kind through which strapping Austrian children might frolic. Even porn
Apparel are in on the act.
That’s all great, because women should never be expected to streamline
their vaginas back to prepubescence. Since the fluffier days of the 70s bush,
the porn industry has done to fannies what timber corporations are doing to the
rainforest (sorry, this plant imagery is really hard to drop). And Cameron Diaz, imma let you finish, but have you ever gone down on
OK, don’t get me wrong, I love cunnilingus – both the giving
and receiving thereof. But in order for it to be fun for both parties, some
level of muff maintenance isn’t just preferable, it’s sometimes essential.
I’m a dark-haired Jewess. You know that opening scene in
Carrie, where all the girls are hosing down their retro pudenda in the shower? If
I wanted to, I could totally grow my bush out like that. In fact, it would save
me the stultifying time and effort given over to my “Routine.” Rest assured, I
don’t take it all off and I’m way too much of a pain wimp to wax, but I do preen.
I don’t do so out of shame. Far from it. I do it out of respect and consideration
for the women who are prepared to give me head. Let’s not kid ourselves. A
mouthful of fur is a bummer.
Have you ever seen a heavily bearded man down a pint of milk?
The dripping, matted mess of fuzz that’s left before he wipes his mouth -
that’s not something you want to put your tongue anywhere near, right? And
getting a pube stuck in your throat is exactly as disastrous as Larry David makes
it out to be in that
episode of Curb. Actually, that very thing happened to me the first time I
ever went down on a girl and I thought it was the end of my career as a
Being faced with a giant bush is a similar level of daunting
to being shown a “doer-upper” by Kirstie and Phil.
“Oh, blimey,” you say, running your fingers through your
hair and looking at a 70s, avocado coloured bathroom, with a rusty shopping
trolley parked in the middle of it for some reason.
“I know what you’re thinking,” says Phil, “But trust me,
this place has some real potential.”
Three months later, you’re curled in a foetal position,
covered in paint, clutching a wallpaper stripper and praying for death.
Kirstie and Phil aside, a bit of pubic preening makes it a
lot easier for a cunnilinguist to see what they’re doing - which ultimately means
more pleasure for the receiver. If there’s a lot of panicked thrashing about
down there, have you considered that he or she may be lost? It’s the difference
between traversing a Brothers Grimm-style forest (sorry, did it again) and taking a
gentle stroll through a National Trust maintained garden.
Granted, women should never be told what their fannies ought
to look like. Anything from a trim to a Brazilian shouldn’t render your privates
some kind of patriarchal sock puppet. The same applies to all body hair. If you
want to shave the whole lot off, apart from a single armpit hair that you dye purple
and name Sally – then, whatever, man. Trends are fickle. Today, Cameron Diaz is
instructing us to have loads of pubes. Maybe next year, Taylor Swift will demand
that we shave it all off and wear merkins made of.
All I can do is politely
suggest that if you expect head, you should at least have some empathy for the giver.