From Chaucer To Playboy: The Evolution Of The Bush

The streets are talking — and they’re talking about pubes. Because pubic hair, like most aspects of women's bodies in 2025, isn't just a biological reality — it’s also a subject of social and cultural debate. Its very existence is politicized, and a woman's personal decision about how to groom or maintain it often sparks controversy, opinions, and conversations.

The bush boom was solidified in the mainstream with a recent viral TikTok that featured the artist Sujindah repeating the phrase “full bush in a bikini” over and over, in a sort of feminist rallying cry about the empowering idea of having, you guessed it, a full bush in a bikini.

On this season of The Real Housewives of New York City, Jenna Lyons showed a nude to her fellow castmates, and had the girls gagged by her long, “silky pubic hair.”

Who could forget when Maison Margiela sent models down the runway wearing real human hair merkins for the brand’s Spring 2024 couture show, putting pubes in their couture era?

This year, Skims’ Valentine’s Day capsule collection included a thong with a heart-shaped cutout on the vulva, which invited more bush discourse. Even Anna Wintour is passively endorsing the bush, with this recent pubes-themed thinkpiece in Vogue.

Needless to say, pubes are clearly having a cultural moment and — dare I say? — the bush is back.

As a pubic hair enthusiast, I’ve taken it upon myself to create a timeline highlighting iconic moments in the history of the bush (and lack thereof). While this timeline is certainly not comprehensive, consider it a primer on all things short and curly, and a tool to let us collectively honor the beauty and evolution of lady pubes.

Ancient Egypt

We’re kicking things off in Ancient Egypt, and I don’t want to hear any complaints that vaginas existed before this. I can’t even begin to imagine what Mesopotamian pubes looked like, and quite frankly, I’m too tired to research that. The Egyptians were all about that bush-free lifestyle.

Some Egyptian hieroglyphics and works of art depict women and men with dark triangles (that’s an artistic term for pubes) around their genitals. But most fancy Egyptian ladies were sticklers for body hair removal using tools like shells, stones, bronze knives, pumice, or beeswax. Some even applied orpiment, a highly toxic mineral containing arsenic, to dissolve the unwanted strands. You know it smelled wild in an Egyptian lady’s bathroom when she busted the orpiment out.

The Roman Empire

If you’re a perv like me, every time you see an ancient statue in a museum you look right at its genitals. And you’ve probably noticed the male statues are, more often than not, rocking beautifully sculpted marble pubes. But if you look at their female statue counterparts, you’ll notice that they’re all smooth down there. Even ancient statues had to deal with double standards, SMH.

In the ancient world, pubic hair was considered uncivilized, and a lack of it basically meant you were fancy as hell. Wealthy Roman women used razors made from flints, pumice stones, or tweezers, and some Roman texts included recipes for homemade depilatory creams. I can’t imagine anything worse than busting out the pumice stone for some hair removal on my sensitive lil’ vag.

The Middle Ages

Much like feudalism, the plague, and religious wars, the bush finally had a bit of a comeback during the Middle Ages. Chaucer, in The Miller's Tale, references a woman who is bearded around her hole. However, most medieval art — if it depicted female genitalia at all — typically presented them as hairless. Some scholars speculate that hygiene was a factor. Since the Dark Ages were sort of medically unadvanced (FFS, doctors were doing surgeries without washing their hands and using a reckless combo of leeches and prayer to cure people), it comes as no surprise that pubic lice was popping off — and no pubic hair meant no pubic lice.

The 1800s

Bushes in the 1800s are like Charli XCX in 2024: a big moment in pop culture. Female body hair was typically not present in paintings — its mere existence erotic and provocative — but two landmark pube-centric paintings in the 1800s challenged that. First was Goya’s 1800 piece “La Maja Desnuda,” which depicted a reclining woman with a barely visible tuft of curlies. Controversial at its time, it’s cited as the earliest piece of Western artwork to depict a nude woman’s pubic hair.

The impressionist painter Gustave Courbet took things to new bushy heights with his controversial 1866 work “L’origine du Monde.” It’s known by some (I’m the some) as the “Mona Lisa of vaginas,” and it depicts an up-close and personal view of a hairy puss.

At the time, the painting was considered so controversial it could not be displayed publicly, and its eventual arrival at the Musée d'Orsay was a landmark moment in bush excellence. (Did I do a full photo shoot with it when I visited the Musée d’Orsay in 2019, inviting judgmental stares from French art snobs? Yes I did!)

The 20th Century

Marilyn Monroe was a trailblazer in many aspects of glamour, including her approach to pubic hair. According to her longtime hairdresser, Kenneth Battelle, the star wanted to ensure her bush wouldn’t be visible through the sheer dress she wore to the Some Like It Hot premiere. Since she famously refused to wear underwear, Battelle suggested she bleach her pubic hair to blend with her skin — and so she did.

1970s

From what I can tell, the ’70s were pretty much about two things: macramé home decor and women rocking a full bush. Counter-culture was the culture, sexual liberation was at its peak, and something about that just lent itself to a cultural embrace of pubes.

In 1971, the artist Jim Dine challenged conventions with his series of drawings titled “Four Kinds of Pubic Hair.” Known for blending pop art with personal expression, his work in this series turned grooming in the nether regions into a subject worthy of artistic exploration and discourse.

That same year, Norwegian model Liv Lindeland made pube history in the January 1971 issue of Playboy, when she became the first Playmate centerfold to feature a visible "tuft" of pubic hair. This marked a cultural turning point: until the late 1960s, publications (including Playboy) followed an unspoken rule that nude images were not considered pornographic unless they showed pubic hair or genitals, leading publications to carefully obscure them. As cultural attitudes toward sexuality evolved, Playboy gradually pushed boundaries, and Lindeland’s centerfold became a defining moment in this transition.

The 1972 sex manual The Joy of Sex became a staple in many 1970s households, revolutionizing discussions around sexuality and erotic exploration. Filled with detailed illustrations, the book prominently features a passionate, horny, extremely hairy couple — both of whom sport full bushes (and in the unnamed man’s case, an impressive Bob Ross-esque beard and fro situation). A landmark moment in the celebration of genital hairiness, it set a new standard for bush excellence.

2000s

The early aughts were defined by an absence of pubic hair — and a new waxing treatment. A now-iconic episode of Sex and the City introduced it to a mainstream audience when Carrie Bradshaw experienced the Brazilian wax on a girls' trip to Los Angeles. The Brazilian, made popular by the J. Sisters — a salon run by seven Brazilian siblings whose names all start with the letter “J” — popularized the procedure in New York City and had a legion of celebrity devotees like Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, Naomi Campbell, and Gwyneth Paltrow.

2010s

In her seminal 2013 work The Body Book, Cameron Diaz came out as a pro-pube warrior, fighting the good fight in the other bush war of the 2000s. She dedicated an entire section to this topic, “In Praise of Pubes,” to challenge the trend of permanent pubic hair removal.

She criticized the growing popularity of laser hair removal, and claimed that the preference for hairless vaginas is a fad and, like all trends, is bound to change. She championed pubic hair as a "pretty little draping,” and suggested that preserving it allows for a more intimate, celebratory experience (even comparing it to unwrapping a special gift). Her stance undeniably cemented her status as a bush visionary.

In 2017, Emma Watson proudly joined the ranks of celebrity pube evangelists in her Into The Gloss Top Shelf interview, where she raved about her love for Fur’s $52 pubic hair oil. She said that she used it everywhere: “I’ll use that anywhere from the ends of my hair to my eyebrows to my pubic hair.” It wasn’t just an endorsement, it was a bush battle cry.

2020s

COVID marked a turning point for pubic hair, planting the seeds of our modern-day pubeissance. With lockdowns limiting access to regular hair removal appointments, many were forced to take a break from the cycle of pube maintenance — and doing so may have led to deeper reflection on what, for some, had become an expensive, painful, lifelong commitment to hair removal. In an interview with The Guardian, Stacie Harding, the associate manager of field training at European Wax Center, confirms this. “In the past decade, pubic hairstyle trends in the body-waxing industry have evolved,” she said in the piece. “While the full Brazilian style remains popular, there’s been a shift in embracing a more natural look.”

At the 2024 Grammys, Doja Cat boldly brought bush to the red carpet. Wearing a sheer, form-fitting Dilara Fındıkoğlu dress, she unapologetically showcased her pubes — a powerful, yet glamorous act of bush visibility on a global stage.

While grooming trends may shift over time, one thing remains constant: a woman’s right to decide what to do with her pubes is timeless.