The topic of female body hair has been a subject of debate for centuries, with varying cultural norms and personal preferences shaping societal views. In recent years, there has been a growing movement among some African women to embrace their natural hair, including pubic hair.

Chidera Eggerue’s 2020 documentary, Bring Back the Bush: Where Did All the Pubic Hair Go?, was a major moment that sparked widespread conversations about the societal pressures surrounding female pubic hair and social media has become a fertile ground for these ongoing discussions.

 

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im not shaving my poosy https://t.co/apTKZGswFW

— ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ (@tweaknuh) January 27, 2025

But despite the growing acceptance of body hair online, the stigma remains strong in real life. “I tried growing out my pubic hair, but I felt self-conscious,” admits Zainab, a 30-year-old lawyer in Kenya. “My boyfriend made comments about it, and I realized I wasn’t ready for that conversation.”

Judgment doesn’t just come from partners; it comes from other women too. “I went to a spa with my friends, and when I changed into my swimsuit, one of them gasped, ‘Ah, you don’t shave?!’” says Anita, a 27-year-old in Lagos. “I laughed it off, but I definitely felt self-conscious the rest of the day.” 

For most women, the decision to remove pubic hair is purely about preference. Eli, a 25-year-old banker in Lagos, says she’s been waxing since university and has no plans to stop. “I love how smooth it feels. I feel cleaner, and it’s just part of my self-care routine,” she says. Eli isn’t alone. A 2016 study published in JAMA Dermatology found that pubic hair removal is widespread among women globally, often linked to hygiene perceptions and sexual preferences. Adesuwa, however, is one of those who believe that the topic of waxing is less about hygiene and preference and more about the male gaze. “For years, we were told that being hairless was sexy. But who decided that? The same men who don’t even shave their own pubes? If you want a bush, rock it. If you want to be bald, that’s your choice, too. But that choice may stem from a deeper societal problem.” Truthfully, many women continue to see grooming as a non-negotiable part of beauty upkeep.  But where does this preference come from?

Hair removal practices have varied across cultures and time periods. In ancient times, some cultures viewed pubic hair as natural and even desirable, while others considered it unclean or uncivilized. Prior to the modern era, both sexes practiced hair removal — a practice dating back to the Stone Age and continuing through ancient civilizations like Egypt, Greece, and Rome. Methods employed ranged from readily available tools like seashells to substances like beeswax and other depilatories, as documented by Victoria Sherrow in “Encyclopedia of Hair: A Cultural History.” The primary motivation in these early periods was often hygiene. However, in ancient Rome, hairlessness also acquired class connotations, with smoother skin signifying purity and social superiority.

Traditionally, many African cultures held body hair in high esteem. The Igbo people of West Africa, for instance, considered pubic hair a source of pride for both men and women. The presence of more pubic hair on women is associated with having fewer sexual partners and being more desirable to men. A woman who tolerates her partner’s infidelity is portrayed as having abundant pubic hair, while those with less were, surprisingly, viewed with pity. Similarly, the Shona in Southern Africa viewed hair growth as a symbol of fertility, and the Kwoma people of Oceania regarded thick pubic hair as a traditional mark of female beauty.

However, colonial influences and the global proliferation of Eurocentric beauty standards have significantly altered these perceptions. The mid-20th century saw a surge in the popularity of hair removal practices, primarily driven by Western marketing campaigns promoting hairlessness as the epitome of femininity and hygiene. Interestingly, during this period, the trend didn’t resonate as strongly with many African women. The concept of “porcelain” skin, often highlighted in these campaigns, was not relatable, leading many to view shaving as a predominantly European practice. But eventually the trend spread globally, influencing beauty standards in Africa and other parts of the world.

The beauty industry has spent billions convincing women that smooth skin is the standard, but science disagrees. Research has shown that pubic hair protects against friction, infections, and certain STIs.

Feminist scholars have long critiqued the regulation of women’s bodies, with body hair emerging as one of the most overt expressions of cultural control. Male body hair has historically been a sign of strength, maturity, and masculinity. In his book The Gendered Society, sociologist Michael Kimmel describes the ways in which body hair is coded as virility and power in male culture. For men, the presence of body hair has traditionally signified adulthood, autonomy, and sexual desirability.

Moreover, Susan Douglas argues in The Purity Myth that the obsession with hairlessness is a form of social control that is used to shame and oppress women. She points out that the idea that women should be hairless is a relatively recent phenomenon that is rooted in patriarchal notions of femininity. The politics surrounding body hair, and the divergent ways it is perceived on men and women, are more than a mere conversation about grooming. They are intertwined with power dynamics, historical conventions, and ideological control over women’s bodies. Men are increasingly allowed to retain their body hair as a symbol of masculinity and virility, but women continue to face societal pressure to remove any trace of it in order to maintain an image of femininity. While some level of grooming might be expected in certain professional contexts, the societal pressure on men to remove body hair, particularly pubic hair, is significantly less intense than it is for women. 

The decision to maintain natural pubic hair may also be rooted in comfort and health considerations. “I stopped shaving because I was tired of dealing with razor bumps and hyperpigmentation,” says Ayo, a 29-year-old from Lagos. For Black women, shaving can trigger a vicious cycle of hyperpigmentation and ingrown hairs, driving them deeper into the grip of consumerism and beauty standards. This is because the coiled nature of Black hair causes it to grow back into the skin, creating bumps and irritation. This leads to post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation (PIH), a common skin condition where dark spots develop after shaving or waxing.  The psychological and social costs are heavy. The pressure to conform to mainstream beauty standards often comes with the expectation of purchasing a range of products to counteract the damage caused by these norms. From serums and exfoliators to laser treatments and ingrown hair solutions, the beauty industry has capitalized on women’s struggles, particularly those of women of color. Thus, the beauty industry’s expansion of products targeting hyperpigmentation and ingrown hairs is a strategic response to create a perpetual need for products that promise to remedy what shaving and other beauty practices have caused.

While younger generations seem more open to ditching the razor, cultural expectations and personal preferences still play a huge role in how African women approach body hair. What’s clear, though, is that the conversation is changing. More women are questioning why they feel the need to remove their hair, and whether they actually want to. In the words of Maya, a student who stopped shaving her pubic hair, “I don’t care to pacify anyone’s ideals of femininity. It’s just hair, it’ll always grow back. So when people gawk at my hairy pubes, I’m glad not to flinch.”