Though he frowned at her using that word, he answered back. "Women are allowed to choose whether to keep their hair or not, grow armpit hair and call it feminism, but men can be judged for wanting to keep things smooth or clean?" He shook his head. "Keep your hair, guys, or you're not a real man?"
He was glad that she wasn't mentioning what had happened. It was so difficult to manage this as it was. Sometimes, in moments like these, he allowed himself to question his choices. His friend had said something careless in a moment of anger or annoyance, and the Ministry had jumped on it with great fury and branded her arm for it - an irreversible, horrific blight on the skin for something so meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It pained him to even think about it, he usually blocked it from his mind. But when it came to a head like this, Robbie really struggled to reconcile his beliefs.
But then he only had to think of Azkaban, the torture that he and so many others had suffered under the Dark Lord, the deaths and the potential of so many more if it had been allowed to continue, and it made everything a little clearer. The Ministry was being absolute to prevent anything like it happening again. It was extreme, but it was necessary, wasn't it? A scorched earth policy. It was pragmatic.
He averted his eyes distractedly as she got changed. He probably would have sneaked a look had the circumstances been a little different, but his mind was cluttered. He tried to push all the thoughts down as she indicated the zipper. "Yeah, red's good for blondes," he said, pulling the zipper all the way up and then pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, assessing the dress. "Looks good."