Good news, boobs. I am no longer harnessing you into a cage, shoving wire underneath you and strapping you down. You’re set free.
Never been a big boobed person, me. Those are not my boobs in the picture. I’ve never known what it’s like to lure a man over with the gentle jiggle of an ample bosom. Never been accused of having two bald babies fighting for head space beneath my skimpy dress.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always been a fan of the underwired, padded, fool-the-men kind of bra. The Hello Boys, if you will.
But why do we women cage our boobs? Are we indoctrinated to accept that it’s just a fact of life that boobs need to be shackled?
It was a man who invented the modern brassiere. This man, to be exact. Sigmund Lindauer. He looks a bit creepy. Just the sort of man you’d expect to focus his intentions on how to amplify a woman’s bazookas.
To be fair to him, Lindauer saw his first brassiere, patented in 1913, as a fashionable, healthier, more comfortable alternative to the traditional corset, which commonly crushed internal organs and smothered wearers into fainting spells. The corset was seen as a symbol of female subjugation – the brassiere was a symbol of liberation.
Yeah, well, I don’t like my bras anymore.
You don’t get men wearing something that makes their penis bigger, more attractive or alluring. (Or do they? I don’t know if it’s man’s best kept secret. Maybe they’re all wandering around with pumped up penises (peni?) and testicular padding. Those pants David Beckham is always running around in certainly seem to tidy everything up into a rather large looking area, but maybe he’s just blessed.)
Yet we women wear the harness. We push them together, we lift them up, we get little red marks under them where the wires from ill fitting bastard bras have been digging in all day. We get fat backs where the ill fitting bastard bras pinch and squish. We buy more and more bras which live mostly unworn in our underwear drawers while the same four or five passably comfortable ones go on rotation every week.
I’m not about to suggest we burn our bras in some throw back to the feminist revolution of the ’60’s. Did that actually happen, women of the ‘60s? Was it media hype or did you really burn your bras? I like to think my mini skirt wearing, Triumph driving mother burnt her bra but I’m not sure she was that much of an activist.
But if I was alive in the ‘60s and knew what I know now, I’d definitely be burning all my bras. Especially the underwired bit. That bit would get dunked in paraffin and burnt twice.
Boobies need a bit of support though, I’m not denying that. Even small ones like mine, which show no sign of droopage thanks to their lack of volume for gravity to pull against.
So I’ll now be wearing my new discovery: bralettes.
It sounds like a training bra for teens, but it’s the all new triumph of comfort. Urban Outfitters stock these beauties here. A similarly small boobed friend of mine (I like to think we’re athletic) found them first and she’s been raving about them – nay, flashing her comfy lace clad boobs – ever since. It took me a while to stop staring and actually listen. But I wish I’d listened sooner.
I have one. I want more. This weekend my mum, sister and I are off on a family outing to Urban Outfitters to get fitted out.
This isn’t even a product review. I wish Urban Outfitters would send me free bralettes. But they haven’t, I just genuinely had an epiphany this week and wanted to share it with you.
Female readers, buy these and change your bra life.
Male readers, for a blog about boobs and some pictures of boobs, you are most welcome.