Waxing. Plucking. Shaving. Curling. Straightening. Perming. Coloring. Being a woman can be so much damn work. On top of that, being a lighter-skinned woman with dark hair? Grooming can be an effort, and it feels never-ending. Once I shape my eyebrows, I’m shaving my legs, or dealing with razor burn on my bikini line, or removing my mustache. I’m exhausted just thinking about the things I’ve been putting off even outside of hair care. (That reminds me, I really do need to paint my toenails.)
Photo: Todamo/Shutterstock
To Shave or Not to Shave When Bathing Naked in Europe
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But what’s also so much work? Tending the lady garden, the cooch curtains, the hoo-hah hair — choose your euphemism. This isn’t some fashion publication where I tell you the best ways to style it: instead, I’m here to give you some advice so you can learn from my own mistakes. And I’m setting aside the fact that many western beauty standards were created by the patriarchy to keep women controlled (and the fact that women’s product marketing has spent decades telling us that a hairless, prepubescent look is the ideal) This post isn’t about that, though I’m always down for a good conversation on the topic.
No, instead, this article is about what to do with the lady bush when showering nude publicly in Iceland.
Forest Lagoon (geothermal spa above Eyjafjörður), Akureyri. Photo: Kelsey Wilking
Getting naked in Iceland
If you’ve been to Europe and found yourself at a hot spring, spa, or some form of shared body of water, you know tradition dictates that you bathe before entering, purely for hygienic reasons. The human body, as beautiful as it is, excretes sweat and flakes off dead skin cells, among other natural functions. So the goal is to wash and rinse off those remnants of the day, ideally to avoid sharing those bodily substances with others in what equates to a shared bath.
My past experiences at hot springs in Switzerland and Italy included separate shower stalls, where you can scrub your nether regions in private before donning a swimsuit. Having also spent time at Japanese onsen, I didn’t find this concept completely foreign. But unlike in Japan, where you carry a small towel until you gracefully step into the pool, Iceland did not have any sort of modesty crutch to lean on.
So on my trip to Northern Iceland in March 2026, I was woefully unprepared for the nude bathing culture that awaited. I was a pastor’s kid raised in the South in the early aughts, so you can imagine my relationship with my body came with a hefty dose of shame — I even wore a purity ring. Cover-ups over a bathing suit during pool time at church camp were required (and, oh my goodness, not a white T-shirt, you Babylonian trollop). It was important that no young woman be the reason young boys might stumble. It was my junior year when my parents finally allowed me to wear a tankini, thinking even that was pushing the limits.
Body shame continued into my 20s. My first gyno visit consisted of my boyfriend (now husband) driving me to a Chili’s so I could down two Long Island iced teas and a beer before getting my first Pap smear at 23. I cried as soon as the doctor entered the patient room.
And while it’s safe to say that I have grown more comfortable in my body as I’ve aged, and have certainly started to care far less about most physical things, I still need to use the mental phrase of “you’ll never have to see them again” to feel comfortable letting it all hang out in public.
You’re never too old for cheetah print
Earlier this year, I bought an at-home hair removal device from Costco. I loved it so much, I even left a review, which I rarely do. I was so tired of dealing with hair that I just wanted to get rid of it. It worked, but only after about 12 weeks of consistent use. However, when I started to see results with underarm hair, I decided to try it elsewhere. I don’t like shaving anywhere on my body with sensitive skin. It’s itchy and uncomfortable, and bikini waxing is expensive. So my at-home laser removal device seemed like a godsend.
However, if you’ve ever gotten laser hair removal, you know hair falls out only where the laser hits. It falls out over a few days, leaving you looking a bit like a shedding cheetah. This isn’t usually a problem, as you can shave the area as well for a smooth, clean finish if the cheetah print isn’t the look you’re going for.
But I never anticipated getting completely nude with what are, in essence, coworkers — I was traveling on a business trip with other journalists. However, one afternoon, a woman from the local tourism board, our pregnant local host, and another journalist and I entered the women’s locker room before heading to the mixed-gender hot springs.
After undressing and wrapping myself in a towel, I walked to the showers, only to realize there were no barriers between shower heads. I’d assumed there would be some privacy, as I had experienced at onsen in Japan. On top of that, the towel hooks and rack were, by my estimate, about two miles away from the actual shower. As I hung my towel, I also hung up what felt like my last shred of privacy, eventually getting brave enough to step into a shower stall.
I tried to wash as quickly as possible, nervously chatting away with every possible small-talk topic I could think of, while trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I reached for the shower handle to turn off the water, hoping to end the embarrassment and fear that someone had noticed my spotted bush.
Move over, Blue Lagoon. The Forest Lagoon in Akureyri is where it’s at. Photos: Kelsey Wilking
“Don’t forget under the boob”
I was stopped. By my lovely host, all smiles and glowing. “No, no,” she told me — I needed to wash thoroughly. While I thought, “I know how to wash my body,” my mouth stayed shut in embarrassment, as I received instructions on how to bathe. “Don’t forget under the boob.” I realized, in my haste, she was right; I had forgotten. In my defense, this wasn’t a scrub-all-the-crevices-type shower after a long day of hiking in the tropics. For me, it was more of a make-this-quick-and-painless-as-possible shower with the goal of putting on my bathing suit as quickly as possible. But our host laughed as she told me grandmothers will lift up their legs on stools to make sure they address all the necessary flaps before getting in. That’s the beauty in it: nudity is not even considered an issue.
She later explained that she felt it was important for young girls and women to see all shapes, sizes, and ages of naked bodies in real life, not just the filtered social media images that make people think natural bodies are something unusual. Naked bathing areas give people a chance to see a variety of bodies across every stage of life. It’s vital to building girls’ confidence, she shared, as they see cellulite, apron bellies, stretch marks, and everything else often deemed “ugly” by societal beauty standards.
It was eye-opening. All of those societal beauty standards are lies. In my head, I knew that. External beauty isn’t what makes a human valuable. But it was nice to see it put into practice in real life.
An ideal evening ritual
After properly bathing, I awkwardly stepped into my one-piece in the changing area — not so easy to do when you’re soaking wet. Because we were going to mixed-gender springs, swimsuits were the norm, though going nude can be common at more remote locations. Our group did this for three nights, showering naked together each time before soaking in pools under the snowy mountains around Akureyri.
One public spot we visited had heated pools at different temperatures, four water slides for the kids, and a cold plunge, and I was curious to see what locals thought of the experience. I spoke with two grandmothers and one mom with two little children, and they told me it was akin to their town square — where they went to chat about the day while staying warm in a brutally cold winter climate.
As we dried off and dressed, I listened to moms wrangle their little ones into jammies. It seemed like it was part of the culture to take the kids to the hot springs after dinner to help them sleep at night. And let’s be honest: a ritual that knocks the kids out for bedtime? Every parent’s dream.
In your birthday suit, there’s no wrong way
So should you shave before heading to Iceland? The reality is that it doesn’t matter. No one looks. Everything is just a blur of nudity, and no one is paying attention. Even mid-laser-hair-removal treatment, looking like a snow leopard as I did, it didn’t matter. No one even noticed or commented. And every night, we showered naked, allowing the women to talk without any men in sight. By the end of the trip, I didn’t care about getting naked in front of other women, even women with whom I only have a professional relationship. I was comfortable, and now, I’m oddly bonded with those women for life in a way only being naked together can do. I truly feel like it was a positive step for me toward feeling comfortable in my own skin — skin that I’m thankful I’ve learned to love.
So, it really doesn’t matter how or if you trim. It just matters that you’re there, however you are. 
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