Dear Every Bra-Maker in the World,
Let me explain.
I don't enter into the "bra buying" business with hostility. In fact, sometimes I am downright excited about it. It's easy for a woman to be dazzled and reassured by the seemingly endless racks of frilly whatnots, lacy unmentionables, and delicate underthings. With so many options, surely finding one for me will be a piece of cake. It's like wandering into a candy store, for big girls. With boobies.
I typically start off by selecting several widths and cup sizes, to cover all the bases. Everything from a C to a DDD, and in between. Everything from a 38 to a 46, and in between. If there is a bra on the rack that will fit me, I will find it. And if I don't, it won't be for a lack of trying.
Into the dressing room, and I disrobe. Usually a glance or two at my naked ladies, and maybe a quick shake (because, let's be honest. How great does that shit feel when you've been harnessed like an overweight mule all afternoon?) And then, to the trying on.
My mood quickly begins to decline, and before I know it, I'm nearly seething with rage, thinking my body is deformed, and that no bra in the world is *supposed* to fit me, because I am a disgusting freak of nature, as far as breasts are concerned.
Well, fuck you, Every Bra-Maker in the World. I am not the anomaly. You are simply lacking in, well, everything you're supposed to provide.
First of all, measurement is pretty universal, amirite? Forty inches is forty inches, no matter how you slice it. So why in the hell does one bra measuring 40 around the band fit perfectly, while another of the same measurement slices into me like a fucking fetish corset? Get yourself some accurate measuring tapes. Or fire your bra-band guy, because he's cross-eyed.
Next, bra cups. What. The. Fuck? First of all, finding cups without six-inch-thick wires to encircle my tits is a goddamn impossibility. I feel like my tits are getting ready to be shot out of a cannon or something. There really is no need for that much wire. My breasts might be a little wild, but they certainly don't need cages. Secondly, who decided that my DDD boobs need padded cups? What part of this makes sense? Who looked at me and thought, "know what that girl needs? Bigger knockers." I don't. Really. Even on a bad day, I don't need bigger breasts. It's really ok to make a bra for me that is just fabric. And while we're on the subject, sometimes breasts sag. It's not flattering, or something any woman likes to brag about, but they do. Some of them a lot more than others. And when they do, all that stiff fabric in our cups just goes unfilled. A deflated breast inside of a padded, stiff, and let's be honest, humorless bra, just lays in there, looking deflated and weird. Like we've flopped our saggy boobs up onto a table, in preparation for our fashion debut. I do not want table tits. In fact, I don't know of any woman who does.
And let me drive this point home, as well...
|No. Just, no.|
And furthermore, these contraptions do NOT need to cost upwards of $80. There is just no sense in that, and no matter how many times you have the super-helpful sales girl assure me that it's a "good investment", I will not be swayed. This is not a good investment. It's underwear. If I want to make a "good investment" I will talk to someone who can teach me about the stock market, or setting up some kind of savings plan. I will not look to my underwear to secure my future. Holy shit, this is annoying, and pretentious.
Just make me a bra, for chrissake. With a band that fits, and cups that are gentle and non-invasive enough to cradle my ladies in a way that keeps me from looking indecent and frightening. Cups that will lift me gently, keep bouncing to a minimum, and show my breasts as actual size, versus novelty size. A bra that does not feel like a form of punishment, but rather a delicate, girly piece of functional clothing.
It's possible. I swear. I see women everywhere, even fat ones like me, looking lovely, and seemingly held gently and comfortably by their bras.
I am not the only fat woman in the world. I am not the only large-breasted woman in the world. I am not the only woman in the world with breasts that tend to favor a southward view. Make us a bra, dammit.
And make it pretty, while you're at it. I'm not 80 yet. So I don't need underwear that says I am.
|Hey there, big fella...|
Fuck you, Every Bra-Maker in the World, for ruining my afternoon, and making me feel as if I have the weirdest, most impossible breasts on the planet. Fuck you for excluding me from Victoria's Secret and Frederick's of Hollywood. Fuck you for taking my money repeatedly, and never, ever, EVER coming thru with your end of the bargain.
And while we're at it, fuck you, Herminie Cadolle, for betraying your fellow womankind with your obnoxious and cruel contraption. Traitor.
This message is brought to you by my currently cartoon-size breasts, and probably bleeding ribcage. Cacique, you are the devil.
As you were.