I thought I had made peace with my body hair. Then I bought an IPL device.

I’m half South Asian, half Eastern European, but my body hair alone can tell you which genes are dominant in me.

A lot of my teenage years were spent resenting the fact I had inherited my Nepali dad’s dark, abundant body hair instead of my Russian mom’s barely-there blonde flecks. There were so many body parts I spent shaving and waxing that she, along with many other fully white women, never even had to consider.

My body hair was a source of shame during those years. Society told me it made me less feminine, and possibly strange. One of my most embarrassing memories from middle school was when a white male classmate noticed that I had a patch of hair on my neck; something he’d never seen before, even on other boys.

Unfortunately, his comment wasn’t just a result of juvenile ignorance. As a young adult, boyfriends would tease me in those lead-up days to a wax, calling me names like ‘Chewbacca’ or ‘Sasquatch’ because of my long, dark leg hair.

But somewhere in my mid-20s, I began to question my beliefs and societal beauty standards. Why was it that the hair on my head was praised, while the hair everywhere else was despised? It’s the same thing, after all.

I started being less strict with myself about hair removal sessions, especially during colder months when my body was mostly covered by layers. I’d occasionally look down in the shower or while getting changed, and tell myself that my body hair doesn’t make me less beautiful.

I also entered a relationship with a man who didn’t make comments about my body hair, which helped boost my overall confidence. I finally felt like I was in a good place with my body hair, and would go entire months without touching a wax strip. At least in the confines of my own home.

Once summer would roll around, I’d start feeling that self-consciousness creep up again. My bikini bottoms would never offer quite the right amount of coverage I needed for that area, and my leg hair would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of smooth legs on other women in my area.

I’d break out the wax again, telling myself that I’m doing this as routine beauty maintenance, like getting a regular haircut. My body hair genuinely can get long and unruly, so I clung onto the justification. I wouldn’t feel bad if I missed a spot or two, but I did feel better going out with almost completely hair-free legs. And not just for the look — the smoothness! There is an undeniable softness that hair-free skin provides, and I can’t help but enjoy the feel of it.

I’ve had many long-winded thoughts about my choices. Am I actually ok with my body hair, or is it just a façade when no one is looking? My inner feminist seems to be in an ongoing fight with the part of me that loves the smooth look and feel of my hairless legs.

I no longer feel the same shame as my adolescent self regarding my body hair, but ultimately I have decided to part with it on a semi-permanent basis. With spring on the horizon, I decided to invest in a new technology that makes hair removal long-lasting and pain-free: an IPL device.

Running it along my legs is bittersweet; part of me feels like I’m succumbing to toxic standards or even betraying my roots, but another part is excited for the ease I’ll have in the future. Never having to worry about the pain of a wax strip or the presence of a ridiculously long stray hair again.

I’ve had to remind myself that true feminism is about choice, and the one I’ve made is valid. I’m not going to IPL every inch of my body, and I will be ok with the hair that remains. I salute the women who are out there breaking beauty conventions, and I understand the ones that are adhering to them. I suppose I fall somewhere in the middle, and that’s alright with me.