Her Mustache Grew Back, The Very Next Day

It all starts somewhere doesn't it? My awareness of the hair on my face goes hand in hand with my awareness of what I "should", or more specifically, "should not " look like.

The fact that I looked that I was trying to grow a mustache similarly to my young male peers, and sadly succeeding, definitely fell into the "how I should not look" category. What is worse is how often I was reminded what everyone made seem like was a medical anomaly.

Being an adolescent is hard enough. One can simply turn to the O.C. or any guidance counselor to confirm that truth, but having what my grade six class described as an "handsome mustache that any Indian boy would be proud of" really added to my list of tween/teen angst.

Ever since I realized these innocent follicles were hideous and quite literally drew gender lines for me, I have not rested until they were gone. Lacking facial hair was simply an accepted trait of female humans, and heck knows I wanted to be that. So the fight began.

Waxing: Tearing out the hairs from my skin with cooled wax and fabric (been there).

Plucking: Using tweezers to grab as many hairs as I could, maybe three, and remove them in a time honored and time consuming tradition (check).

Threading: Having a kindly yet critical woman with the eyes of a hawk rhythmically rip each individual hair out using, you guessed it, fine sewing thread (done that).

Shaving: I am not going to explain this method but I will only admit to doing it in the secret shame of my washroom.

My facial hair became an obsession. I could not be seen by people I was attracted to with such a "disfigurement".