By Jacqueline Kilikita

I HAVE A LOT OF BODY HAIR — HERE'S HOW IT AFFECTS MY LOVE LIFE

When God was handing out hair, I was at the very front of the queue.

I'm not talking thick, luscious, glossy hair on my head. Hair everywhere else: sideburns, a furry upper lip, the odd chin hair, downy fluff all over my arms, back and even my neck.

Growing up in a big Greek Cypriot family, I had always Seen my hairiness as part of my heritage: we all looked the same, and I was proud of that.

But as soon as I started primary school, I realized my hair would be an issue.

“We don't want you in our group. You have a mustache and girls aren't supposed to have those.”

At 8 years old, I didn't even know what a mustache was. When I got home, I asked my mom, who gave an understanding nod grabbed the bleach.

In five minutes, the jet black hairs on my upper lip were transformed...

...into the fair, wispy, virtually undetectable hairs every other 8-year-old girl in my tiny village school in Essex had. It was a routine I'd haveh to keep up every fortnight for the rest of my life.

Then, a week before starting college, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), a hormonal condition

As well as weight gain, acne and irregular periods, one of the main symptoms is excess body hair.

My hair suddenly got thicker, darker and started sprouting up in places I never even knew hair could grow...

It grew on the tops of my cheeks and my forehead.

The diagnosis meant I began to understand my body a little better, but it didn't make dealing with the hair any easier.

I stockpiled razors and Saw a threader

But when I finally met someone, I realized that keeping my excess hair from him would be extremely difficult.

Impromptu dates led to speedy shaves and inevitable sore rashes

I used to mix my body lotion with heavy-duty concealer and full-coverage foundation just to mask the bumpy redness, and only ever felt comfortable enough to be intimate with the lights off.

He'd sometimes Show up at my house with a bunch of flowers, a DVD and pizza (the dream, right?)

...But I'd pretend I wasn't in after a wax earlier in the day had left me red and sore. He didn't my insecurities, and I was perpetually embarrassed.

I just couldn't let myself go like the rest of my single friends.

Continually, I found myself sabotaging dates because I was so utterly terrified and embarrassed of giving men a glimpse of my hair.

Once, before sleeping with someone new, I snuck into the bathroom to shave my face but accidentally cut myself.

Half-covering the gash, I had to make an excuse and leave abruptly. I never heard from him again.

To cover the slight five-o’clock shadow on my upper lip and chin, I once applied four layers of foundation, only for it to transfer all over my date's pristine white shirt.

Come to think of it, I’ve never agreed to go on a date in the daytime.

It’s my worst nightmare to have a guy I’m into comment on a few stray chin hairs I may have missed. Dark and moody lighting are where I feel most comfortable.

I learned the hard way that honesty is most definitely not the best policy.

On a sixth date, he asked why my arms were red and blotchy. I explained I'd had an IPL session to reduce the hair that morning. He recoiled in horror. "Your arms are that hairy? That's actually gross." READ MORE READ MORE

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