Femininity has always been defined by a narrow set of guidelines that many of us follow our whole lives without ever questioning. As a teenager in the 1990s, I shaved my legs and bikini line until I reached my early 20s, when I began going to a Polish woman named Marta for Brazilian waxes. Because it hurt so much, I would take shot (or two) of tequila before my appointments. There was something shameful about this quick buzz followed by an intimate encounter with a stranger. It reminded me of drunken sex, but with the anticipatory excitement swapped out for anxiety — and the pleasure for pain.

Laser hair removal, I learned in my early 30s, was also painful but not to the point that it required anesthetizing — and the results were, at least, semi-permanent. In a kind of purifying ritual, I would lie on white paper in a sterile room, trying not to flinch as a woman used a laser to zap the dark roots inside of the follicles along my bikini line. I’d emerge from each session feeling cleansed — absolved of all my bodily imperfections.

A few years back, while getting a trail of lighter hair on my abdomen permanently removed via electrolysis, it occurred to me that depilation was all about control. Picking off vulnerable strands of keratin one by one had become almost like dieting: a compulsion that allowed me to retain some semblance of mastery over my body. If I gained a few pounds, in a twisted demonstration of self-dominance, I’d just rip out a patch of unwanted body hair. Until recently, I never considered the radical notion of simply yielding to my body in its natural state.

It stands to reason then, that when a president comes into power planning to legislate our bodies, limit our access to healthcare, and shame us for having sex for pleasure, we might want to take control wherever we can.

About a month after the election, NYMag’s The Cut reported on a phenomenon they called the “Post-Trump Haircut” — women chopping off their hair and dyeing it in the wake of the election. I asked my hair stylist shortly after what he thought about me taking a similar plunge with my long locks. He suggested I stay the course — why get stuck with a bad haircut and a bad president? In retrospect, he was right, but a few days later, he shaved both sides of my husband’s head, just for fun. It was yet another reminder that maintaining the status quo for a woman is far more important than it is for a man.

I’ve known this double standard my whole life, but it culminated for me this past February. My husband and I spent our Valentine’s Day evening in couples’ therapy talking about my leg hair. We’d been working toward becoming an “optimally erotic couple” for months, but I’d inadvertently thrown a wrench into our progress by letting my political views into our bedroom. It turned out I wasn’t the only one who had assimilated centuries’ worth of images about what a sexy woman is supposed to look like.

Although my husband supported my cause, he couldn’t help the fact that my hairy legs were a turnoff. I’ll admit I was torn — removing my leg hair to appease a man would be directly at odds with its raison d’être. Still, my commitment to my marriage outweighed any short-term political statement. So I agreed to set a “shave date” for International Women’s Day on March 8, which allowed me a full four months of luxuriating in my natural outrage.

I ended up participating in “A Day Without a Woman” strike — and put off shaving my legs until the following weekend (women on strike definitely don’t depilate). I still believe symbolic acts of resistance are important in the struggle to be heard, especially when we feel voiceless. And that beauty routines can be both silencing and empowering. In the end, I was actually kind of ready to say goodbye to my furry little companions. For the first time, I experienced shaving my legs as a choice — not a requirement. Afterwards, although my new, smooth legs felt alien and unnatural, I’ll admit they looked physically more attractive. Or at least, I thought they did.

Sarah Kasbeer’s writing appears in Elle, Jezebel, Vice, and elsewhere. Read more on her website.