This Will Put Hair On Your Chest

Chest hair symbolizes “masculinity” according to some horribly vapid article I skimmed on the Internet.

It can be caused by drinking whiskey, eating sardines and spreading maple syrup on your chest, according to a variety of Internet answer sites I perused. Apart from the maple syrup, I can’t imagine why I now sport three chest hairs.

Some of you may be unsurprised because some of you think I’m a dude. It’s likely my compulsion to take incessantly about my penis that has led to that incorrect assumption.

My chest hair was pointed out to me a few weeks ago. I finally wore something other than my usual ensemble:

I like to be the yin to my own yang.

I like to be the yin to my own yang.

The shirt, while it did nothing to accentuate my grape-sized chest, it highlighted the three chest hairs in all their glory.

Unlike these photos:

This is my hand. I was trying to turn the iTouch around when I snapped this.

This is my hand. I was trying to turn the iTouch around when I snapped this.

Here's part of my chest. Not the part with the hair. This was the best of 15 shots.

Here’s part of my chest. Not the part with the hair. This was the best of 15 shots.

I finally went with the computer camera. I'm yanking on one of the hairs.

I finally went with the computer camera. I’m yanking on one of the hairs.

The following day, the friend asked me if I got rid of my hair. I hadn’t. I was fearful that if I shaved, I would wake up the next morning looking like the love child of Alec Baldwin and Robin Williams. Also, I’m really lazy.

Is it a sign of aging? Aging is such a wonderous thing–what with the depletion of all energy, the realization that your life is a series of inconsequential failures, and the inability to extract oneself from furniture without grunting like a tennis player. It was upon turning 35 that a wirey hair began growing out of my neck. My darling child never fails to pipe up about “mommy’s mustache.”

I’m still not sure what to do with them. Bleach them? Pluck them? Instagram them?

I am at a loss. Luckily unitard season begins in a few weeks.


  1. If they’re long enough and close enough together, you could braid them. Should you decide to pluck them, make sure to accompany the act with a nice “Ploink!” from a cartoon soundtrack.

  2. Go to your favorite exercise equipment store and buy a chest expander, the one with the two handles and the heavy springs for resistance.
    Three or four reps should get rid of those chest hairs.

    Just don’t catch your nipples in it.
    Trust me on this.

      1. Cheese grater for the feet, cheese greater for the chest.
        Someone should design one for the back and sell matched sets!

  3. If she’s ever totally out of it, my mother has made me swear on my life to pluck the hairs from her chin. I have no kids and worry, who will do it for me? Thanks for the laugh.

  4. “Aging is such a wonderous thing–what with the depletion of all energy, the realization that your life is a series of inconsequential failures, and the inability to extract oneself from furniture without grunting like a tennis player.” This is the best and most accurate description of aging I have ever read.
    If you were Canadian you would be in real trouble with that Maple Syrup thing. It gets into everything.

  5. Wonderful. I for one am happy you are not a dude. Cuz yer way too damn cool. I was wondering just the other day, that if I let my chin hair- just the one – grow…and cut it…I could transplant a whole head of hair onto someone I think. That one hair follicle is might busy. And silkpurse also rocks.

  6. Like Dave, I was also going to suggest a braid. I manage to create a lovely braid from all my chest/nipple/chin hairs. I also like to add some hot pink feathers and beads for when I go out on the town.

  7. I like that photo of you pulling the neck of your shirt down and pulling on the hair. It’s so…provocative. Of course, I personally am not that brave. I tweeze and wax everything. My before & after shots don’t even look like the same person.

    1. I’d also like to point out that Madame Weebles appropriately noted (in an e-mail to me) that the hairs are only a centimeter on the surface, but 10 inches long when you pull them out.

      1. That’s true, I did. It happened to me just today, in fact. I tweezed what I thought was a tiny little stub of a hair, only to discover that it had its own root system underneath the surface.

  8. Oh heavens, I understand the trauma. Twas but a few months ago that I found an unjustifiably long single hair on my chin. I am otherwise fairly unhairy. It shocked and repelled me. I plucked it. A few months later it returned. I plucked that too, forthwith. It has yet to return. But when it does, I will be ready. Oh, I will be ready.
    Godspeed and keep the faith.

  9. Yes, aging sucks and hair does sprout out of places you’d never think it could possibly grow. Plus they now appear in gray so it’s hard for me to see them but I can feel them. I’m waiting for a whisker to grow out of my thumb. That should happen any day now.

  10. ‘Aging is such a wonderous thing..’ WTF – what planet do you live on? As one who will never see 60 again, I can tell you that it is many things, but wonderous it ain’t.

  11. Ah, aging! When you feel 20 years younger on the inside, pass a mirror, and your mind says, “Who in the hell are you trying to fool?”

  12. I couldn’t stop my chin hair from coming out, my shaving wasn’t fast enough. Once I had a full blown beard I decided the only course of action was to move to Portland. I fit right in.

  13. I am sure that someone would cheerfully charge you $300 to laser-remove those puppies. An aesthetician, I believe they like to be called. Although few can approach the aesthetic of your yin/ yang ensemble.

  14. I thought you were a dude for the longest time because you seemed to purposely hide your gender. I would pull those suckers out. Just knowing they were there would give me nightmares. Prolly because I don’t have a penis.

  15. I am saving mine. I will spin them into yarn and make baby blankets for all my grandchildren. Based on the amount of hair, my one child will father a dynasty.

  16. My motto is Pluck (it) and Pretend (it never happens). Delusion is the sweet nectar of the gods when it comes to all of the weird hair things that happen as we age.

  17. I already have hairs sprouting out of my chin like a bearded lady wannabe, which I viciously attack with tweezers. If I got chest hairs too, I’d probably just start crying. I’m only 24. 😦

    Hope you find a way to either eliminate or make money off those suckers. I’m contemplating the circus.

  18. Honestly, I think you’re just rubbing this in Hugo’s face.

    I’m hoping guilt-tripping you will distract you from the hairs popping up all over my chin. I advise you make your decision based on cost. Plucking: free. Bleach: $3. Razors: $7. (Shame? Priceless.)

  19. I can’t believe how incredibly brave you are to put this out there in the open. I deal with my unwanted body and facial hair in the dark, in the basement, with a penlight and a hand=mirror at 3am so nobody will know my Sasquatch Secret of Shame.


  20. Your description of aging is spot-on but you forgot the one benefit of growing old.
    Ten percent off on seniors’ day at WalMart that can be spent lavishly on Polydent, Depends and Ex-lax.

  21. Is it possible you’re becoming a werewolf? That’s how I’m explaining all the hair that’s beginning to gnarl out of my earholes. . . and why I sometimes wake up lathered in gore.

  22. Yes, it is so much fun finding those hairs in interesting new places. Thing One is experiencing the JOY of becoming a woman too. She has decided growing up sucks. And I’m thinking, true, but wait, I can’t say that how do I spin this? Sure, you’ll bleed and get hairy and have cramps and then one day get wrinkles and hot flashes and . . . yeah I got nothing.

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