In life you can’t do anything half-ass. You have to fully commit to an extreme and that’s why when I first started to see the early signs of chin hair on my 20-something year old face (this was a few years back. Relax, I’m not trying to lie about my age) I knew I either had to let that -ish grow to bearded lady status to get it smoother than a Michael Jackson moonwalk.
At first I could handle it on my own. Tweezers were weapon of choice. Pluck, pluck, cool. Then something else happened. I realized that as a black woman my hair has a mind of it’s own. Like the hairs on my head, my chin hairs were coarse and obtuse. I started to develop dark spots that marked where these rude as hairs would return to ruin my face whenever they felt like it.
I wasn’t alone in this. Maybe its the steroids in the meat or estrogen in the chicken (They inject chicken with estrogen right, that’s why it’s so tender? No, ok) but all my black girlfriends were sprouting five o’clock shadows. BEARDS!
It was time to conceal.