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The Perfect Bra
Every woman can tell you a story about her first bra- because getting our first bra
is one of the few rites of passage into womanhood. It should be a memorable
experience of Mom and Daughter going shopping together and sharing this special
connection of female-ness. Unfortunately, at the age of twelve, when I asked my
Mom to take me shopping for my first bra she laughed off my request! “You don’t
need a bra, you have nothing to put in one!” I was crushed, because I did need one
if only for my self-image.
My first bra was a hand-me-down from my best friend, Sue. She had been wearing bras for months and feeling like
an old pro at it. She gave me one of hers on the sly sneaking it to me in a plain paper bag at school. It was what
was called “the training bra” and made from a tiny strip of white cotton with a bow in the middle.
If my Mom had been a little more sensitive she would have realized I was feeling left out. I was being traumatized at
gym class when I changed into my uniform. Everyone could see that I was still wearing a cotton undershirt. Even
the boys knew who was wearing a bra and who was not, some venturing as far as to” snap” the back of a bra to the
annoyance and pleasure of the girls.
I remember getting down on my knees in the bathroom and praying to God. “ Please Lord, let me have breasts!”
This was even more important to me than getting my period. I wanted to wear a bra, I wanted to be a woman. I
wanted to join my peers in discussions about brassieres. I wanted to have a drawer full of bras as testament to this
coming of age.
At 13 years of age, I had a sledding accident that laid me out- literally -flat on my back for months. When I finally
could walk and went back to school the following year I had “blossomed”. This time I really did need to wear a bra.
As thin as I was, my breasts had plumped up and my nipples were no longer flat. To my amazement I now wore a B
cup and my friend Sue was looking at me with envy. However…the boys at high school were leery of my
transformation and decided I must be wearing falsies! When that nasty rumor caught up to me I was embarrassed
and angry. Now that I had them, no one believed it!
As I grew through high school (5’4” and 115 pounds) my breasts continued to grow, too. They were my pride and
joy. To me, they were amazingly sensual, wonderfully female, and just plain beautiful. I loved the pretty bras that I
could buy including my first Lilyete underwire which I thought was so sophisticated and sexy.
As I grew older and gained weight my breast size went up to 36 D and then 38 DD but I was still slim. I remember
once over hearing someone describe me as “that skinny girl with the big breasts. ” After breast feeding my
daughter they never lost their inflated look and so I went up to a bigger cup size. There were painful grooves on my
shoulders where the bra straps tore into my flesh. The weight pulled at my neck and gave me headaches. My
breasts which had been my best friends were now a torment. My childhood prayers had been answered but as they
say, be careful what you pray for, you just might get it!
My big breasts were now a big problem as I tried to find bras to fit and clothes to disguise them. I did a lot of
swathing of scarves around my neck, layering with vests and wearing oversized silk shirts. I felt deprived having to
walk by the racks of pretty undergarments of silk and lace to the utilitarian rack of Orthopedic brassieres. I was
always searching, searching for the perfect bra- one that would fit and not hurt. Underwires were no longer an
option. The weight of my breasts put too much pressure on the wires that jutted into my armpits and pressed into
my rib cage.
The search for the perfect bra can become an obsession. I could spend a whole day shopping at the mall for a bra
and come home empty handed. A 38 E wasn’t available even at Frederick’s of Hollywood, so I bought whatever I
could find and watched as my breasts spilled over my bra like rising bread. Too tight bras pushed my cleavage up
to my chin. My shoulders ached with the weight I was carrying and grooves etched their way into my flesh.
I thought a breast reduction would end all the torment of bra shopping but after my breast reduction, I am again a
weird , hard to find size- 38 B. And once again I find myself wandering from store to store trying to find a bra that
fits.
Bra shopping is a lonely venture these days as sales clerks have been replaced by cashiers. Gone are the days
when all the nice department stores had bra fitters to help you find the perfect fit. These were ladies who walked
around with measuring tapes around their necks and knew how to use them. Once they had you captive in the
dressing room, they would run back and forth bringing yet another size or style to try on. Once undressed you were
at their mercy. Their training included how to time the exact moment when to whip back the curtains of the dressing
room and expose naked girls. Our worst fear back then was of our breasts being seen by anyone especially our
mothers. These bra fitters were nazi-trained and could not be intimidated by adolescent glares. They not only
would expose you but they would dare to look at your body but help you put on the bras. EEEEK!
Since bra shopping is a part of women’s relationships with their breasts we spent a whole segment of The Breast
Dialogues filming at K-Mart’s lingerie section. My daughter and I sorted through a selection of sports bras,
underwire bras, funny bras with cartoon characters on them, water bras, 18 hour bras, wonder bras, padded bras
and sexy bras. We even found in the children’s section, bras for little girls! No longer the discreet and modest
cotton bras of yesteryear but silky sexy underwire bras! As my adult daughter comments in the film, “This is insane,
tiny people aren’t supposed to be sexy!” Well, evidently, the market is there and parents must be buying them for
their tiny people.
The Breast Dialogues also has a great segment called Growing Up Female in which women share stories of how
they felt when their breasts were beginning to grow. And how they felt when their breasts didn’t grow or grew too
big, and how they felt when the boys teased them about their bodies. Then there is a cultural commentary about
the mixed messages we women receive telling us to cover them up, no, show them off! They’re sexy and men like
to look at them but be very careful as they could be seen as seductive and endanger you. They are wonderful
body parts to enjoy and for nurturing and feeding an infant but they could get sick and kill you! Wow!
Perhaps in the future, your bra will be one that can be adjusted to fit in all ways, made of a hi-tech fiber that feel
weightless and has a “morphing” dial to minimize or maximize your size and could change into whatever color or
style you wanted. Or who knows we may be able to create our bodies the way we want them and forget about bras
entirely. Until that time, we always have the option of giving up our quest and just let them flop.
Every woman can tell you a story about her first bra- because getting our first bra
is one of the few rites of passage into womanhood. It should be a memorable
experience of Mom and Daughter going shopping together and sharing this special
connection of female-ness. Unfortunately, at the age of twelve, when I asked my
Mom to take me shopping for my first bra she laughed off my request! “You don’t
need a bra, you have nothing to put in one!” I was crushed, because I did need one
if only for my self-image.
My first bra was a hand-me-down from my best friend, Sue. She had been wearing bras for months and feeling like
an old pro at it. She gave me one of hers on the sly sneaking it to me in a plain paper bag at school. It was what
was called “the training bra” and made from a tiny strip of white cotton with a bow in the middle.
If my Mom had been a little more sensitive she would have realized I was feeling left out. I was being traumatized at
gym class when I changed into my uniform. Everyone could see that I was still wearing a cotton undershirt. Even
the boys knew who was wearing a bra and who was not, some venturing as far as to” snap” the back of a bra to the
annoyance and pleasure of the girls.
I remember getting down on my knees in the bathroom and praying to God. “ Please Lord, let me have breasts!”
This was even more important to me than getting my period. I wanted to wear a bra, I wanted to be a woman. I
wanted to join my peers in discussions about brassieres. I wanted to have a drawer full of bras as testament to this
coming of age.
At 13 years of age, I had a sledding accident that laid me out- literally -flat on my back for months. When I finally
could walk and went back to school the following year I had “blossomed”. This time I really did need to wear a bra.
As thin as I was, my breasts had plumped up and my nipples were no longer flat. To my amazement I now wore a B
cup and my friend Sue was looking at me with envy. However…the boys at high school were leery of my
transformation and decided I must be wearing falsies! When that nasty rumor caught up to me I was embarrassed
and angry. Now that I had them, no one believed it!
As I grew through high school (5’4” and 115 pounds) my breasts continued to grow, too. They were my pride and
joy. To me, they were amazingly sensual, wonderfully female, and just plain beautiful. I loved the pretty bras that I
could buy including my first Lilyete underwire which I thought was so sophisticated and sexy.
As I grew older and gained weight my breast size went up to 36 D and then 38 DD but I was still slim. I remember
once over hearing someone describe me as “that skinny girl with the big breasts. ” After breast feeding my
daughter they never lost their inflated look and so I went up to a bigger cup size. There were painful grooves on my
shoulders where the bra straps tore into my flesh. The weight pulled at my neck and gave me headaches. My
breasts which had been my best friends were now a torment. My childhood prayers had been answered but as they
say, be careful what you pray for, you just might get it!
My big breasts were now a big problem as I tried to find bras to fit and clothes to disguise them. I did a lot of
swathing of scarves around my neck, layering with vests and wearing oversized silk shirts. I felt deprived having to
walk by the racks of pretty undergarments of silk and lace to the utilitarian rack of Orthopedic brassieres. I was
always searching, searching for the perfect bra- one that would fit and not hurt. Underwires were no longer an
option. The weight of my breasts put too much pressure on the wires that jutted into my armpits and pressed into
my rib cage.
The search for the perfect bra can become an obsession. I could spend a whole day shopping at the mall for a bra
and come home empty handed. A 38 E wasn’t available even at Frederick’s of Hollywood, so I bought whatever I
could find and watched as my breasts spilled over my bra like rising bread. Too tight bras pushed my cleavage up
to my chin. My shoulders ached with the weight I was carrying and grooves etched their way into my flesh.
I thought a breast reduction would end all the torment of bra shopping but after my breast reduction, I am again a
weird , hard to find size- 38 B. And once again I find myself wandering from store to store trying to find a bra that
fits.
Bra shopping is a lonely venture these days as sales clerks have been replaced by cashiers. Gone are the days
when all the nice department stores had bra fitters to help you find the perfect fit. These were ladies who walked
around with measuring tapes around their necks and knew how to use them. Once they had you captive in the
dressing room, they would run back and forth bringing yet another size or style to try on. Once undressed you were
at their mercy. Their training included how to time the exact moment when to whip back the curtains of the dressing
room and expose naked girls. Our worst fear back then was of our breasts being seen by anyone especially our
mothers. These bra fitters were nazi-trained and could not be intimidated by adolescent glares. They not only
would expose you but they would dare to look at your body but help you put on the bras. EEEEK!
Since bra shopping is a part of women’s relationships with their breasts we spent a whole segment of The Breast
Dialogues filming at K-Mart’s lingerie section. My daughter and I sorted through a selection of sports bras,
underwire bras, funny bras with cartoon characters on them, water bras, 18 hour bras, wonder bras, padded bras
and sexy bras. We even found in the children’s section, bras for little girls! No longer the discreet and modest
cotton bras of yesteryear but silky sexy underwire bras! As my adult daughter comments in the film, “This is insane,
tiny people aren’t supposed to be sexy!” Well, evidently, the market is there and parents must be buying them for
their tiny people.
The Breast Dialogues also has a great segment called Growing Up Female in which women share stories of how
they felt when their breasts were beginning to grow. And how they felt when their breasts didn’t grow or grew too
big, and how they felt when the boys teased them about their bodies. Then there is a cultural commentary about
the mixed messages we women receive telling us to cover them up, no, show them off! They’re sexy and men like
to look at them but be very careful as they could be seen as seductive and endanger you. They are wonderful
body parts to enjoy and for nurturing and feeding an infant but they could get sick and kill you! Wow!
Perhaps in the future, your bra will be one that can be adjusted to fit in all ways, made of a hi-tech fiber that feel
weightless and has a “morphing” dial to minimize or maximize your size and could change into whatever color or
style you wanted. Or who knows we may be able to create our bodies the way we want them and forget about bras
entirely. Until that time, we always have the option of giving up our quest and just let them flop.
| The Breast Dialogues Journal Entry for April, 2006 |
 |