Why Bras? My Boobs Are Mine and I Can Do What I Like With Them
Female woman update: why bras? Why the constant gravitational conflict? A downhill battle it is. Downhill is easier and good. Shut up everybody.
Hello women. Pause for reply. Oh good you’re here. Do you remember the age when you first started wearing bras? Okay good. Now do you remember asking why you had to wear one? When I rack (or boobs) my memory I remember distinctly not asking nor wondering the reason why I had to suddenly add an extra layer of clothing across one section of my body. Although I did find it odd at the time, so much of adult advice up until then had proven to be somewhat reasonable. Like when you’re told not to drink in public parks with your friends, or alone. That, in retrospect, is pretty sound.
Although I don’t think I ever consciously verbalised it at the time, I believe the general feeling towards the emerging mammary vessels could have been summarised in the expression: “Oh no! Boobs!” If you are told you have to provide extra cover for something on your body with no real logical explanation, I think a natural extrapolation you might make is that this area, therefore, must be something bad or shameful. I have to cover them so no one can see, they must be a bad and dangerous thing that is my responsibility to obscure. Why? I’m not sure yet and I’m too young to understand but it is nonetheless my burden and any negative incident resulting from their exposure must therefore also be my fault.[pullquote]When I rack (or boobs) my memory I remember distinctly not asking nor wondering the reason why I had to suddenly add an extra layer of clothing across one section of my body.[/pullquote]
Oh no! This person is acting weird or even aggressive because of my failure to obscure. You stupid bitch! Always obscure! Obscure the breast flesh and never discuss your menstruation lest it upset the elders, sure it’s just the basis from which all life springs and technically should be celebrated as the source of all our existence but shut up and don’t let them see your tits you slutty, slutty 13 year old girl.
A stranger in the park smacked you (a child) on the ass and told you to “keep on truckin’ bitch” (the potential for hilarity regarding why ‘truckin’’ was his particular choice of verb could have been enjoyed if the event hadn’t been so traumatic and demoralising), and it did in fact happen because of how tight that top is! … And how braless those boobs of yours are! Here is another thing which is more significantly your responsibility, just like the way cleaning, worrying about people’s feelings, and inexplicably making sure the men have enough food at family gatherings are disproportionately my problem more than my brother’s or my father’s.
I believe my pubescent cells began gestating around the age of 12, and slowly, but not slowly enough for my taste and the cells began to agglutinate into a ripe, budding pair (Why the fuck, by the way, is ‘ripe’ appearing as an adjective so often in physical descriptions of teenage girls? Incredibly disturbing connotations exist there, a whole other area for analysis is the creepy language surrounding female sexuality).[pullquote]I believe my pubescent cells began gestating around the age of 12, and slowly, but not slowly enough for my taste and the cells began to agglutinate into a ripe, budding pair[/pullquote]
Oh bully. I must have begun wearing a bra around a year or so after they made their first appearance. And why? I was never sure. Without any rational explanation being offered my assumption was: “Oh, this must be one of those things I’m supposed to be ashamed of for no convincing reason anyone can provide, just like masturbation and my unusual preoccupation with the fox from Disney’s Robin hood. The abject shame they embody!” I thought inwardly in my ‘silent never discuss any of this with anybody ever’ Irish catholic repressed section of my mind.
Now, at 28 I have very belatedly begun asking questions aloud and apart (perhaps) from exercise, I can see no real reason at all to wear a bra. I’m pretty sure the fear of the droop is a myth because resting a muscle on a small shelf for most of your life is surely going to make it weaker than having the bitches hold things up on their own? Oh yes, from now on I’m just going to refer to my breasts as ‘the bitches.’ Why? Because they are mine and I can do what I want with them. Shut up.
Even if they shake, even if the nipples become erect (which they will at any moment, nipples are not sentient, rational beings, and it is not automatically a sexual reaction, idiot), even if they rest unevenly, it is my flesh attached to me. It is not an accessory I don when looking for attention, it is part of my fucking body and feeling less comfortable or safe because they are not strapped in extra tight is something that as a society we should be really, really worried about.[pullquote] I’m pretty sure the fear of the droop is a myth because resting a muscle on a small shelf for most of your life is surely going to make it weaker than having the bitches hold things up on their own?[/pullquote]
However! Of course, I am speaking only for my own experience. The only experience I have is my own and perhaps many women would not find what I describe relatable. Perhaps you have a perfectly conflict-less relationship with your extremities and I hope that you do. And also I am somewhat aware that as they get larger a bra is actually a practical and comfortable garment for some. As per usual I do not think anybody should tell any woman how to look or what to wear but the overall point is, it is her choice. And her physical comfort and safety should not be in jeopardy because of the decision to not add an extra strip of cotton around her chest.
