Tonight I realized that for months or perhaps even years there has been a niggling little question floating around in the back of my head. It roams about and snivels quietly in odd corners, ignored by me because I just didn't want to think about it.
But still the question lingers, until finally today I was forced to acknowledge it: Why on earth do I wear a bra? I must be fucking crazy; why else would I don this torture device every day? I look better with one on, I tell myself. And I don't want people to watch my boobs jiggle (believe me, there is a lot of jiggling going on). And what of the shame should someone see my nipples through my shirt?
So let's balance that against the agony and shoulder aches from wearing bras. I don't mean a little, it hurts a lot, no joke. I think some of this is amplified by old injuries, but if I didn't wear a bra the pain would be much less. Like, ouch.
The thing is, I really like how I look with a bra on, I like my shape better. But what is wrong with me when I am bra-free? Maybe I should work on admiring my trollish shape just the way it is.
I have often thought that if we ever invent anti-gravitaional devices, one of the applications could be in women's undergarments-just turn on your gravitational brassiere and you can have perky breasts with no straps whatsoever. But since that hasn't happened yet, I did the next best thing; googled "comfortable bras" and ordered an all-cotton, no-underwire-having, genuine-made-by-a-women's-collective-in-Seattle UnBra. It'll take 3 weeks to get here, and I can't wait. The color: eggplant, because today I had some roasted eggplant salad at lunch and it was really really good.
Then I logged on to Victoria's Secret and purchased a Body by Victoria Demi Plunge bra with matching hip-hugger panties. I wanted periwinkle blue but of course they were out in my size, so I settled for Whisper Pink.
As a final note, the picture I included here of the lovely Rose may seem unrelated to the text of this entry; but look once again at how relaxed, elegant, and demure she looks--WITHOUT a bra.
4 comments:
I hear you, sister! Maybe we should bring back bra-burning. If trying on bras makes me cry, maybe burning them would make me laugh.
Burning bras is sounding more and more like a good idea. And joining in a bare-breasted march.
But the sad thing is, I am still addicted to bras as objects that can re-shape my body into something better; I can't seem to look at myself with prejudice-free eyes or drop the concept of the American feminine ideal as something I should be ashamed not to embody.
And is that was not just a figure of speech, archivist, I am very sorry that trying on bras made you cry. I know that I have many times gone into the changing room and come back out feeling absolutely terrible about myself.
That's no figure of speech! (pun intended) I have indeed cried on more than one bra-shopping excursion. But I have the addiction too. I can't let go of it. I want my shape to be "correct".
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