Warning: family members and coworkers (particularly those of the non-utero-American variety) might want to skip this post. Dad, I am specifically talking to you and I am not kidding.
Ok, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way – I think my boobs are shrinking. I don’t know how it’s happening, but I’m pretty sure it is. I’m thinking about this because of a post on Shapely Prose yesterday called ‘of boobages’. How can you NOT read it, with a title like that? It’s a frank discussion of breast size written by a woman whose boobs apparently grow and shrink with the seasons, her hormones, and perhaps what she ate for breakfast.
This one time, before I met the boy, I took Shovonda shopping with me for a cute shirt to wear on a summertime date.
While I was trying it on, Shovonda said ‘that will be PERFECT with a better bra’.
‘What’s wrong with my bra?’ I was wearing a version of the same damn bra I wear every day.
‘Well…’ Here she looked at me like I she was about to revoke my status as a woman – ‘it’s not, you know, doing anything for you’.
I started looking into bras that would… ahem… do something for me. There are choices, but they all made me feel like an idiot, so I haven’t bought one yet.
Please be aware that these pictures are representative of what you get when you search for ‘wireless cotton bra’ vs. ‘padded bra’. Apparently us wireless cotton girls don’t need wind tousled hair and leopard print fabric.
Volcanista, the blogger that wrote the above mentioned post, has been in my shoes. She’s also, apparently, been in the shoes I’d be in if I bought the above bra.
It was very easy to notice changes in how I was treated between month A [A cup bra] and month C [C cup bra]…But what caught me even more by surprise was how much friendlier people were — men and women, friends and colleagues and strangers. Most of those people probably were not even particularly interested in sleeping with me or deliberately hitting on me (hard to believe, I know!). They were just… nicer. I didn’t have to wear anything especially revealing for that to be true, either. Bigger breasts just meant better treatment in general, and while some men were creepy and deliberate about it (see above), for most people it seemed to be unconscious. We are heavily socially conditioned to react favorably to breasts.
I have no idea if that’s true. Also yesterday (which was apparently a boobieful day), I wore a tank top under a cardigan to work. The tank top rides about seven fingers below my collar bone. One of my coworkers came in and raised his eyebrow eeeever so slightly, clearly indicating that he thought it was something of a risqué choice.
My first thought was to leap to my defense by saying ‘but my boobs are SMALL!’ Fortunately I didn’t, because on the scale of professionalism that’s about a negative 4 (where 0 is saying ‘fuck’ at work (which I do all the time)). But it’s true. If my girls were a C, I would never in a million years have worn a shirt that low cut.
So. On to a deep analysis of my breast size.
- Pro: A lot of the fashion choices that I make, I am able to make because of my size. I can sub unlined tank tops for bras, I can expose a wider expanse of the skin on my chest because of my reduced non-existent cleavage, and I can work out in my day-to-day bras in a pinch. I’m comfortable with how my breasts look on my body, which is also not gigantic.
- Con: My friends with more generously endowed breasts are objects of fantasy (I know this because apparently having little boobs makes men think I’m practically packing a penis and would therefore love to hear about how much they want to motorboat that girl down the hall). They’re frequently construed as more feminine, and sexier in the way that the leopard print bra girl is sexier. More looks on the street kind of sexier. Joan Holloway sexier. Also, based on the research conducted by Volcanista, people are nicer to them. Even people who don’t want to get into their pants.
BUT NOW THEY’RE SHRINKING.
This is bullshit. Everyone be really nice to me, even with my little boobs. Ok? Promise?