Pubic Hair

[poliphilo]

I understand that no-one under thirty likes pubic hair.

See here

I grew up in the 60s when pubic hair was the holy grail. Why do you think anyone ever watched anything by Jean-Luc Godard?

No, that's unfair; Godard in his pomp rocked my soul. Weekend was a life-changing experience. But it didn't hurt that he had chicks walking around in the background with their panties off.

And back then chicks with their panties off meant huge, cushiony swatches of pubic hair.

The temple was veiled....

O.K., OK... Now I'm embarrassing myself.

Apparently the fashion for bare pubes is down to porn. Porn stars wax. And we all aspire to be porn stars (Ach, we are such sheep) just as we all once aspired to be the Venus de Milo or the Apollo Belvedere.

Though that was a little before my time.

The first artist to paint pubic hair was- I rather think- Gustave Courbet. Thereafter the bush had a golden age that lasted approximately a hundred years.

I think the human body benefits from that patch of shading. To me it looks unfinished without it.

The pornstar look is an android look- No hair out of place, boneless bits that don't wobble. Immaculate.

I reject it. I like flesh that behaves like flesh. Follicles that work.

The call of the wild.

Comments

[sovay]

I think the human body benefits from that patch of shading. To me it looks unfinished without it.

I think it's like anything else: if you shave or do not shave for your own sake, that's one thing; if it's because of other people's expectations or preferences, that's very much another. And then they can get tangled up in one another, so that you might think you're bikini-waxing because it makes you feel more beautiful, when your criteria of beauty have been imposed from outside. It's not a preference that makes sense to me. (If for no other reason than: ouch.) But I didn't grow up worrying about my sexual attractiveness versus pornstars . . .

And back then chicks with their panties off meant huge, cushiony swatches of pubic hair.

Your language reminded me of time_shark's "The Golden Helmet (Casque d'Or)," about Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec:

He has become Montemartre’s carnal spirit,
joyfully deformed,
generously corrupt,
gleefully debauched,
celebrating the body in all its pouched, plump, pocked
imperfections,
its ringmaster and its historian,
recording the human whirlwind:
gaudy hats and billowing blouses,
the green haze of absinthe,
sagging rumps and shocks of red pubic hair,
monsieurs emerging from beneath sheets
to kiss their rented lovers,
the stark black of slumming aristocrats,
slipping away from the life he left behind for good . . .

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

It's very hard to separate oneself from the aesthetic of the age. And the aesthetic of the current age says that Barbie is the perfect woman.

I love Toulouse Lautrec. He was real. And he loved the real.

"sagging rumps and shocks of red pubic hair" Yes!

[sovay]

And the aesthetic of the current age says that Barbie is the perfect woman.

Eccch.

"sagging rumps and shocks of red pubic hair" Yes!

That was the line. : )

It's in time_shark's amazing collection Disturbing Muses: it's a cycle of poems that essentially retell painters' lives from their art, not their histories. Good stuff.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

Mmm, yes.

I think I may need to friend him.

[sovay]

I think I may need to friend him.

You should. He's an excellent editor and poet, and all-round interesting person. And he performs his own poems with props.