Late last night, while blasting my music and thinking about how I should really clean my room (like that's ever going to actually happen), I decided to shave my legs. I'm about the go on a brief vacation to Cape Cod, so why not be swim suit ready?

I paused my music, grabbed my razor, and made my way to the bathroom sink. I lathered up my calves with shaving cream, and I asked myself, Do I really want to do this? I wavered for a second before finally taking the razor to two months worth of hair growth.

The reason why I was having second thoughts wasn't because it was a big step for me-- I've been shaving my legs on and off for the past couple of years. The real issue is that it was expected of me to shave.

I hate expectations. Being a woman, I'm held by a lot of standards; to name a couple, I must always look polished, I must always dress appropriately and in the current style, and I must tailor everything about myself around my society. Along with that comes removing as much body hair as humanly possible, save for the hair on my head, which I should keep long and natural.

I've always been the silent rebel. In sixth grade, I once wore a tablecloth as a skirt because I liked the pattern, and I think I pulled it off pretty well. Not to mention that my favorite place to shop is the local Savers, as well as that my hair, which reaches all the way down mid-butt, used to be completely turquoise; my favorite outfits are usually mainly composed of black (although that's usually only in the winter).

There's nothing I despise more than going against who I truly am to 'fit in'. I'm happy with my group of friends I've made being myself, and I feel more comfortable doing that than in trying to make other people happy.

Still, I continued to shave, making sure I hadn't missed any spots, and it was all over in less than ten minutes. I dried off, rinsed everything off, and resumed my former place sprawled on my bed doing nothing. That was it. No feminist police kicking down my door, no guilty conscience, just silky smooth skin.

I think the main reason I gave in to shaving my legs after two months without doing so was because I appreciate the way hairless legs feel, and honestly, no one cares whether or not I have leg hair. It's my body, not a war ground. I think sometimes, I forget that not everything needs to make a statement. I'm keeping my thrift finds and blue hair, of course, but I don't need to always sacrifice myself to make a point. I guess if I did, then that would make me the ultimate hypocrite; who preaches about not changing yourself to fit in, and then still changes themselves in order to stand out?