I am on top of your head and down your arms and legs.
The bristles of boars, no, they don’t scare me.
And I’m teased like a brother teases his little sister.
Hands run through me and and fingers play with me.
I am sprayed into shape until I am tamed like a fox.
I am washed every day by some and every two or three by others.
I come in many colors, but I’m not as natural as I look.
I grow an inch or two or three depending on who wears me.
And I turn white as snow in the winter of life.
What Am I?