I watched this video clip maybe 20 times, a closeup of a merkin being made, light brown human hair being threaded through silk tulle. This was behind the scenes at the Maison Margiela haute couture show, designed by John Galliano, in which corsetted models were made up to look like porcelain dolls and wore luxurious merkins under their sheer black skirts. Historically, I have lost large cuts of time to videos of ingrown hairs being extracted, enjoying something quite animal and orgasmic about the eventual release, and while this video had similarities, the aim was not, of course, hair removal, but instead hair introduction. A pubic wig was being created and in the meditative space between each threading, I thought about the state of body hair.
An advertisement for an at-home hair-removal laser kit had just popped into my emails, one in a list of “top Mother’s Day presents”, the suggestion being that I might this year thank my mum for giving birth to and raising me with the gift of a thousand small shocks to her armpit, thigh or vulva. This device sat comfortably among its fellow gift recommendations – a candle, a bottle of rosé – a shrine to femininity, motherhood, or hairy alcoholics whose houses stink, whichever cost more.
