My name is Little Bear and this is my story.
As of now, I do not have a diagnosis for PCOS. I’ve been tested twice, and both came back negative. I’m scheduling more testing (plus perhaps some genetic testing) soon, so maybe that will change.
I had two puberties. At seven, pubic hair sprouted. At eight, breasts. At nine, acne. At ten, I bled. At eleven, I stopped growing. That appeared to be it. Then, at fourteen, my shoulders, chest, and back broadened, my voice lowered, and, then….more hair.
It started inconvenient enough of my back, ass, thighs, and belly, along with the abundant fuzz already covering my pits and crotch. But then it crept up to my breasts, chest, neck, and face.
After several trials of waxing, nairing, bleaching, and plucking, daily shaving finally settled as the only option for the darkness, thickness, and abundance of it.
I would later, at nineteen, try lazer, but its painfulness & expense made it not feasable after three sessions. It did nothing.
So for seventeen years, I lived like this, shaving every morning in the shower until my face, neck, and chest were RAW, praying that my lovers would never notice the shadow that crept up by evening. I lived in fear and shame.
Mostly, anyway. During my mid-twenties, having read articles of women who – gasp! – actually embraced their body hair, I began to experiment with letting my armpit, crotch, and leg hair grow. I officially let go at 28, and at 30, stopped shaving my chest.
I came out at Genderqueer realizing that no one gender alone could hold the HUGENESS that was my personality and artistry. And it was through that, that I began to embolden myself. I was ready to show my true face.
Sadly, it would have to wait, as retail work in Small Town, FLorida, USA, didn’t allow that sort of thing.
But soon, I moved across country to Seattle and everything changed. Working at home, living in a very liberal & queer friendly city, and now having a loving and supportive boyfriend, there was no more reason to shave.
At 31, I began to grow it out. By June, it was long enough – and I was brave enough – to enter a Beard competition. This changed my life.
I met the Wreckless Freeks, whose sideshow, it turns out, was happy to have the iconic “Bearded Lady,” perform with them, as well as the Emerald City Beardo’s FHC, and several other performers, artists, and thinkers, who remain my friends today.
Do I get stares? Do people ask questions? Do “brave” internet trolls call me “gross?” Yes. The stares get acknowledged with smiles, and the questions (the polite ones) get acknowledged with answers. The trolls mean nothing, and their vitriol says EVERYTHING about them and nothing about me.
Because now I wear my true face and it is a beautiful one.
That is my story.
The Ladybeard Project 