From an ancient goddess to modern goddesses living among us
We rarely talk about women’s facial hair—maybe a bold celebrity admits to waxing her ’stache or a perimenopausal woman sheepishly posts on social media about plucking rogue chin hairs. But in quiet communities of women with hormonal disorders like polycystic ovary syndrome, we talk candidly about the shame of shaving and the never-ending search for something to stop hair growth.
I have wondered myself where else I might focus the energy that I’ve spent hovering over a magnifying mirror late at night. I clock the women who have let their hair removal routines lapse long enough for a few dark curls to gather on their chins. I want to tell them they are goddesses, but these are things we don’t speak enough about.
There are no clear statistics on how many women are plucking, shaving, threading, and waxing their faces regularly, but “most” is probably not an understatement. Some women, however, are rejecting the drive to obsessively obliterate their perfectly normal facial hair and instead are choosing to be visible, and bearded. They invoke the power of bearded goddesses, saints, witches, and bold women of the past, when women’s facial hair was a symbol of authority, transformation, and the supernatural and natural worlds.
Consider Inanna, the ancient Mesopotamian goddess of love and war. Inanna embodied the contradictions of human existence and the interconnectedness of love, power, and the cycles of life and death. Iconography of Inanna is varied, depicting her nude at times (as a representation of sexual love) and as a fierce bearded warrior.
The Bearded Woman Is an Iconoclast
In 1991, Rivkah Harris wrote about Inanna (also known as Ishtar) as a paradox, saying the goddess “acts in ways that disrupt the social order.”
Visibility and confidence mentor Gennevieve Vaillancourt, who has been living with a beard for several years, also acts in ways that disrupt the social order. Vaillancourt rejected the patriarchal demand that women must be hairless and started posting online and speaking publicly about it.
“I posted in a few women-only online groups that I was a part of, and the feedback that I got from the posts that I shared about growing out my beard and being on this journey of self-love was incredible,” she said. “The women were kind of a fire behind me, pushing me forward.”
When she made herself vulnerable, Vaillancourt experienced the compassion embodied by (sometimes) bearded Buddhist deity Guanyin. Early depictions of Guanyin were more masculine or ambiguous, including a beard and a mustache.
Reclaiming Power, Healing Together
Living as a woman with facial hair invokes a certain power, maybe because the look is so unexpected?
“I am always surprised at how my beard brings this power over the room. I can enter a room, and people want to hear what I have to say,” Vaillancourt said. “People are more welcoming to me than they were previously when I was working so hard to try to hide my beard. There’s a power to a woman simply accepting that part of herself.”
A confident woman with facial hair disarms, like the exaggerated ancient Greek depictions of Medusa with her wild hair, sharp teeth, and beard. Miscast by mythology as monstrous, Medusa is instead a warning, a symbol of protection for women, feminists, and queer people.
Activist and spiritual healer Coral Renaie found inspiration to let her beard grow from other women like Vaillancourt, Alma Torres, and Khosi Buthelezi. Now Renaie wants to support more women in accepting themselves.
“I am blessed because there are many out there that see my face and know I am a safe place. Though that may seem a presumptuous conclusion to make, it is a truth. I am a woman who was able to look into the face of hatred repeatedly and show myself that I am strong enough to choose love every time,” Renaie said. “I am full of magic and witchy knowledge, as are many of my fellow bearded sisters that I meet.”
Renaie encourages women to question the practice of hair removal, asking themselves, “Does this bring me joy? Why am I removing my hair? Is it to make me happy or is it because I want to have some control over the reaction the world has to me?”
“If you are waiting for the world to change, that won’t happen until you do. It has to happen one woman at a time,” she said.
Celebrating the Modern Bearded Woman
Erin Honeycutt is the Guinness world record holder for longest beard grown by a female, an honor she earned in 2023 after months of documentation.
Guinness World Record holder for longest beard on a female
“Most people, unless they know me, just assume I am a bearded man. I joke with my wife that I unknowingly entered into a ‘secret man club.’ I have gotten more engagement and special treatment from random men now with a beard than I ever did without one,” Honeycutt said.
Accessing male privilege through the appearance of masculinity is a common theme in stories of women with beards. Take, for example, Saint Wilgefortis, also known as Uncumber or Liberata. According to legend, Wilgefortis vowed to remain chaste and devote her life to God, but her father arranged a marriage anyway. Praying for divine intervention, Wilgefortis miraculously grew a full beard, freeing her from the betrothal. (Her dad did not react well and had her crucified.) Wilgefortis is a symbol of female resistance against unwanted marriage, but unfortunately her story emphasizes the attitude that female facial hair is undesirable and even punishable.
“Growing up it was drilled into my head by family, strangers, and the media that women should be hairless, and no one would ever want a hairy woman. So even though I was cool with my physical body, I thought hair was a bad thing,” Honeycutt said. “As I got older the task of shaving up to three times a day to try to fit into this societal norm became exhausting. I started seeing more women online coming out and accepting their facial hair.”
Again, the spirit of Guanyin’s compassion appeared in the (bearded) faces of other women.
“Then in 2020, right at the beginning of the pandemic, I told my wife I was tired of shaving. She said, ‘So just stop.’ Those three words are what pushed me over the edge,” Honeycutt said. Wearing a mask during the pandemic allowed her to build confidence gradually. “I’ve had other women tell me I inspired them to also stop shaving, but they are scared of what others will think. I tell them exactly what was told to me: ‘So just stop.’ It’s really that easy; just be your authentic self.”
With their platforms, Vaillancourt, Renaie, and Honeycutt are creating awareness, acceptance, and community for other women to accept their own facial hair. Vaillancourt hosts a free monthly virtual gathering called Hairy Ladies Rising.
“It’s this community for women to come and share their journey about living as a woman with hair. It’s for women to come and build their confidence as their authentic selves,” she said.
For Renaie, her beard has become a symbol of her own healing and a tool to engage in healing others.
“I would say that my beard is a physical testament to my healing—a sign that there were internal battles within that were won, and are still going,” she said. “I think it mostly shows women in the same predicament as I am that it is possible to heal. Some get curious, some get angry—that is also a great way for me to gauge where people are in their journey and sometimes allows me to pinpoint where I can help best.”
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Image Credits:
GUANYIN STATUE IMAGE COURTESY OF THE ART INSTITUE OF CHICAGO
SAINT WILGEFORTIS ETCHING COURTESY OF JSTOR.ORG; MEDUSA ROOF TILE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART
