Chest Hair vs. Shaved Chest
Reader Email:
Dear Tony,
As a beautiful female, I naturally gravitate to your blog to seek out Massive Men. Please share your thoughts on chest hair. I love it and think it complements mountainous pectorals wonderfully. I understand shaving down for competition purposes, however, if one shaves regularly because he thinks his lush body carpet detracts from his swell, I would have to say that he is simply not big enough. Body hair and enormous, doublestuffed muscles are badges of masculinity. Why do so many guys want to rid themselves of perceived excess hair?
Keep up the great work!
Future Mrs. Zangief
Ah, Mrs. Zangief you bring up an excellent, excellent question:
Why do so many men rid themselves of chest hair?
This may seem like a complex question, deserving of a complex answer. As a woman, it is only natural to think how the media assigns gender roles and defines the idealistic man as a hunky, hairless manifest of a statuesque Greek God. And that this hairless, photoshopped impression of men would compel the ignorant and impressionable male masses into thinking that a shaved chest is a desirable one.
Or perhaps your hypothesis is a simpler one, that men shave their bodies simply to show off the muscle definition they may, or may not, have. And that the recent male purge of their furry machismo is simply a way of exposing, whether for good or bad, the very muscles that lie beneath - the masculinity within.
However, this is not a complex question. It is a simple question, with a simple answer, because men are simple creatures.
The answer to your question, “why do so many men rid themselves of chest hair?”, is simple: men shave their chest hair because they think, “When I shave my junk, it looks bigger… so it’s got to work for my pecs too, right?”
That is it. That’s all there is to it. I shave my package, it looks bigger. So if I shave my chest, it will look bigger. Flawless victory.
-Tony “Two Scoops” Muscoli
P.S. My view on chest hair: Shave your balls, not your chest.
I am massive enough that my rippling pectoral muscles can be seen beneath my most manliest-of-man sweaters (Mrs. Zangief, call me).
