Ihave a passion for wolves. My friends joke: “If you see something wolfy, then send it to Dhruti.” But I also like them because no one would dare make fun of a wolf for the way it behaves or the way that it looks. A wolf just does its thing. That love of wolves goes back to reading Jack London’s White Fang – never underestimate the power of reading as a child. But it’s also as a child that you begin to realise your differences, especially when it comes to appearance. And you’ll latch on to whatever you can to help figure out your place in the world. I’m proud of my south Asian heritage and of my brown skin. But I also have a body that can seem more wolf than human. When puberty hit early, nature offered up a significant portion of dark, wiry “terminal” hairs across my body rather than the soft fine fuzz known as vellus that practically everyone else I knew was bestowed with. My arms and legs were particularly affected. Shaving became a daily ritual, as did the cuts and blood and bits of tissue paper that came along with it. The excess growth meant seeking out small Indian beauty shops in west London to find the least painful but most affordable threaders and waxers. I must have spent thousands over the years, trying to be as smooth as women in magazine adverts. But that grooming didn’t make me attractive to the opposite sex or even make me feel at all comfortable. In fact, my arms started to become prone to scarring from ingrown hairs. In my 20s I tried laser surgery, but still the follicles pushed forth. The waiting period between sessions was also frustrating as going out in public meant acknowledging there would be potential curiosity and, in some cases, cruel comments. Being a hairy woman seemed to others to be an ultimate sin. It didn’t matter that Asian hair has a faster growth rate compared with Caucasian peers. Did you know wolves have guard hairs? That’s the protective layer that you can see, which gives the wolf its colour. They are rather oily and have hollow shafts. Underneath is another layer – the undercoat – and it’s all about insulation and keeping the beast warm. I began to get more comfortable with my arm hairs by viewing them as devices to signify how cold I was getting. After all, when they would rise, I knew it was to trap the heat and keep me warm. It’s protective – like the wolves I identified with, and I found sanctuary in it. My legs, however, were different – if I had to go out to work or any event, they would be as cleanly shaven as they could be. It was the pandemic that made me finally accept that even my leg hairs aren’t gross. I was working from home and for family reasons, this involved shielding. I stopped removing my body hair. If I wasn’t going out and few people would see me, then why did I need to protect myself from any disgusted objections by projecting a smooth image? The stubble from my last leg shave in early March 2020 gave way to long, fine hair. Two inches in some cases. At first the growth was down to a lack of effort but soon it became a deliberate project. This was a time when my body was on furlough from the pressures of trying to adhere to conventional beauty standards. It got to the point where I was so comfortable that one warm summer’s day that year, as I prepared to go on a walk to get some fresh air, I took off the long socks I had been planning to wear under my dress. Instead, I allowed those dark but ultra-soft leg hairs to be seen and soak up some sun. It was liberating. It wasn’t the longest walk – just around the corner and back – but it was the first time in two decades my leg hair had been on show in public. In 2021, I was shortlisted for a national award for my journalism and writing. This meant having to dress glamorously for the awards do in London, at a fancy hotel. Just before the ceremony kicked off, I spoke to another journalist about my beauty experiment while we touched up our makeup in front of the mirrors in the restrooms. I showed her my leg hair – still untouched all this time. I found that I was excited about having the confidence to come along to an event, finally feeling comfortable in my skin. It was then I knew I just didn’t care about others’ opinions any more. I don’t know how long I’ll stay au naturel, but the pandemic certainly allowed me to embrace and enjoy my hairy roots. I’ve even adapted one of my favourite quotes about my beloved White Fang to mark this new chapter of life. “Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on.” In this case, it was literal hair growth.