How 4 Women Are Processing TikTok’s “Hairy Latina” Trend

One reality that’s as ubiquitous as abuela’s cafecito but rarely discussed with the same candor? Body hair. Specifically, Latina body hair. Because let’s be real: Our relationship with fuzz — wherever it may be sprouting and prospering — comes with plenty of challenges. 

While I don’t necessarily claim to be hairier than most, the fact is, like many Latinas, I’ve got a lot of hair. And it’s everywhere. Figuring out how to manage it has been an ongoing journey filled with lots of little lessons along the way. Once upon a time (the early 2000s, to be exact), I nearly plucked my eyebrows into oblivion out of fear that they would ultimately fuse together, forming a Frida Kahlo-esque unibrow. That horrifying-yet-humbling experience taught me the potent power within a single pair of tweezers. And TBH, no tween should have that much power.

Then there’s the waxing, a practice I began in my teenage years — first starting with my unruly eyebrows, then moving on to all the tiny stubborn hairs atop my upper lip, and finally, working my way to my first bikini wax at age 19. The oft-discussed pain almost seemed like a prerequisite, as if it were the price of admission to pay for a body hair-free existence.

Now, comfortably in my thirties, I’m re-examining virtually everything about my relationship with my body hair. I shave, trim, and wax as needed, but I don’t feel as much pressure to be free from every little follicle. After all, us Latinas are descended from a lineage of strong, spirited women who seemed capable of doing anything. 

But when it comes to body hair, we’re often caught between two worlds: the expectation of smooth, hairless femininity peddled by Eurocentric beauty standards and the lived reality of having hair on just about any and every bodily surface. It’s a topic that has received a lot of traction on TikTok, where hairy Latinas come together to lament, joke about, and, sometimes, embrace the extra fur many of us have inherited. Like many of them, I’ve discovered that embracing my own body hair is an act of rebellion. It’s about reclaiming my narrative, mi cuerpo, and my right to exist in all my hairy glory. 

Dealing with body hair is about as personal as it gets, and it’s a topic people generally want to avoid. But not in this case; ahead, four Latinas share their feelings about inheriting body hair, working through the shame of being la pelúa, and how they’re navigating hairy life today.

I noticed the hair on my body was “abnormal” at a very young age. In elementary school, the boys would comment on the dark hairs visible from the unibrow to my hairy legs. At home, my parents were kind about it and would tell me that the hair would fall off or wouldn’t be noticeable once I was older. My older brother and my uncle were two culprits of the shame though. I absolutely do not hold it against them because it was all in good fun, but I was nicknamed “Chewy” or “Chewbacca” by them, and they would always make the notable Wookiee sound whenever I walked into the room. 

I think back to my freshman year of high school when I had a huge crush on an upperclassman. He invited me to a pool party while we were out with friends and I was excited to join. At some point during the night, he mentioned how he didn’t think a girl from the group was pretty because he noticed her stomach area was “extra hairy.” The day before the pool party, I purchased hair bleaching treatments, waxing strips, and an electric shaver. I got rid of almost all the hair on my stomach and back until I noticed how inflamed my skin was. As the stubborn girl that I was (and still am), I decided to go anyways, which resulted in everyone asking what had happened to me. That day I told everyone I had fallen off a bike and scraped some skin, and I still didn’t regret it because at least they weren’t concerned about the hair on my skin.

I’ve chosen to look at the positive aspects of having thick and voluminous hair. As a Latina, I’m extremely proud of my culture and the characteristics I have thanks to other women who look just like me. I’m also a fan of comedy, so making fun of myself relieves the tension at times, too. I’ve seen funny TikToks about Latinas’ natural body hair and it ends up making me feel less alone if anything. It also doesn’t hurt to realize that anyone who judges you based on body hair is a bit out of touch.

I wasn’t teased for being hairy in my household. I had a noticeable upper lip shadow created by hair and I was encouraged to bleach it. I was around 14 and didn’t really know how else to get rid of my body hair. I’m glad I never resorted to shaving my upper lip, but looking back, having a blonde mustache must have been noticeable.

In middle school, I wanted to shave my legs and my parents didn’t allow it. When it came to P.E. class and wearing shorts, I was pretty self conscious about my body hair. I also over tweezed my eyebrows when I got my hands on tweezers. My relationship with my body hair was definitely not the best.

I am so comfortable with having body hair now. I have a waxing routine, but there are times when I go months without waxing or shaving. I’m truly comfortable with having body hair. My daughter has beautiful bold brows and will probably have very prominent upper lip hair. I want to teach her how to embrace her body hair and properly take care of it. I want her to be comfortable with her body hair. If she decides she wants to remove it, I want to be there to help her navigate through it.

I was the youngest of five, and the only girl, so my parents’ experience with hairy children wasn’t all that new. But it was different when it came to me. My parents, specifically my mom who herself did not have much body hair at all, shared her concerns with me early on. They were not about what she thought of me being hairy, but what other people might think. So, many of my memories around shaving, waxing, threading — any hair removal in general — mainly tie back to that original concern.

I remember being around 7 on vacation with my family, and naturally spending it mostly in bathing suits and shorts. At this point, I was aware of the fact that other little girls didn’t have much/any hair on their legs, arms, lower backs, and I did. I’d shared my concern of feeling different with my mom, but the consensus was that I was still too young to shave completely. That morning, my mom made peace with the compromise of taking her electric personal razor, like one used for facial fuzz., to “lessen” my hair by semi trimming it. I can see that moment clear as day now. It took her forever, poor thing, but I remember feeling that much better about myself and my body, even if only the hair was just a little less. Up until the age of 23, I had never completely shaved my forearms, because I never really felt the need to. That was until I had to have one of my them shaved smooth on set for a photoshoot. So of course, I went home and shaved the other one to match. I started to feel the idea slowly sink into my brain that, maybe this is better, maybe I look better, maybe this is more acceptable. Thankfully though, I hate the process of shaving in general, so this new step definitely wasn’t going to become permanent in my routine. But more importantly, it woke me up and reminded me that I have zero shame that my arms may be hairier than the general “standard” women are held to.

Hair has always been an interesting topic in my life, because the hair on my head is one of the things I’m most often praised for. I’ve been blessed with thick, luscious, curly hair, and like most curly girls, I spent the first 10 or so years of my childhood wishing it was straight. But I was lucky enough to have the realization that it was gorgeous and unique earlier than most, and that embracing it was powerful. Making peace early on with something so important really influenced my approach to the rest of my hair in general — that it is simply who I am, and a reflection of my roots.

I experienced embarrassment at school as I was the only one who wasn’t shaving her legs or mustache. I vividly remember being in P.E. class and wanting to hide my legs, so I would pull my shorts down as much as I could. I eventually got the courage to ask my mom if I could shave. She eventually allowed me to, but for the longest time I felt ugly and not girly enough like the rest of the girls.

By shaving my legs. It gave me a boost of confidence. As time went by and I got older, I realized that hair was still important for me to shave as it grows fast, but I wasn’t as ashamed if I had any hairs. I learned that everyone can decide whether they want hair or not, and that not everyone is paying attention to me to see if I have any hairs.

My relationship with my body hair is healthy. I still shave, but now I’ve learned that the problem wasn’t what was on my legs or under my arms or anywhere else on my body. Now I know that I’m able to feel comfortable in my body. I still shave my legs and underarms, but the rest of my body hair does not bother me. I keep somewhat of a maintenance routine, but I don’t worry too much about it unless I’m going out.