Finally, An Update on My Bras

You may have noticed that over the past 9 months I've become quite the Richie. I've spent over $100 on one pair of jeans and recently purchased boots for $175! I am even considering replacing my now ripped $20 Target rain boots with a $100 pair of Hunters. In the past I have often refused to purchase a full priced item on principle alone mostly because I get more satisfaction from the feeling of getting a good deal than the feeling of having purchased something I really love. And while I still religiously stalk the JCrew online sale (where someone needs to mark down the cashmere henleys below $100) I also have cautiously begun trying on clothing that isn't even on the sale rack and I have to admit that sometimes pricier goods really are nicer. As I have commented in the past the most troubling and unrewarding world of shopping is that of bras. There is no other places where sizes vary so drastically, where pretty almost always equals nonfunctional, where nothing ever seems to go on sale. And of course there is no more well scrutinized female body part then the breast. And thus is created a horribly unsatisfying shopping experience. Last week, partially inspired by new willingness to spend real money on items of clothing, I decided to finally give the expensive bras a chance to wow me so on Friday I tentatively jumped on Oprah's Good Ship Pricey Bra by taking a trip the the Upper West Side's famous brassier-ery, The Town Shop.

After rushing out of work at 5:15 due to the shop's ridiculously early closing time I walked into the store and pretty much announced to the entire staff that I hated all of my bras which, I assume, is exactly what they want to hear -- I figured why not play into the myth and get the full experience? A young latina sales girl had me in a dressing room and naked from the waist up within five minutes of entering the shop which is about the time I realized that all of my rushing had overpowered my 10 hours old deodorant. I assume that sales ladies at a lingerie shop see a lot of breasts and are therefore unimpressed with the idiosyncrasies of my own boobs (which are completely normal. Seriously! Don't look at me like that!) but is it safe to also assume that they are A-OK with an end of day musk? Let's just hope there's not some secret bra fitter blog out there with a Friday entry about a particularly aromatic customer. Anyway -- they do a lot of staring at your boobs in the Town Shop. If you're the kind of girl who can't get comfortable in the large open dressing room in Filene's Basement or who shies away from the mirror when getting out of the shower you might want to ingest a few shots of liquid courage or possibly a couple of Valium before taking off on your own bra shopping sojourn. La Chica de Bras now knows my breasts much more intimately than any of the boys who have been lucky enough to see them in the past few years and possible better than my OBGYN, my favorite bikini top and my future offspring put together.

They don't do any measuring at the Town Shop which I assume is supposed to make me feel more confident because these women are just so adept at fitting boobies into brassieres that measuring tapes are almost archaic but I would have felt more comfortable if the official assessment of my gifts were a bit more quantifiable. I was last measured at Bloomingdales in December of 05 where they downgraded my new post weightloss breasts from 34Ds to 32Cs which seemed about right to me. But over the last couple of years I've noticed a disturbing mass boob exodus from the confines of the 32C bras. In the morning everything will be fine, the bra comfortable, the sweater puppies contained, etc. And then, around noon, I'd glance downward and notice that a jail break was in progress. Somehow I'd have half a boob in and half out thus creating the illusion of 3 or 4 boobs where once there were 2 (And sadly more boobs is somehow not better than fewer). So clearly there was a problem and despite ample evidence to the contrary it seemed unlikely that my boobs were inflating as the day progressed.

I cannot deny that even without the reassuring comfort of numbers the bras that Lil' Miss Titsling brought back to my dressing room fit pretty well. For reasons that I am completely incapable of deducing she insisted on putting each bra on for me and behaved as if we were squeezing my barrel-like chest into a corset -- I believe at one point she had her foot up on a chair for leverage as she pulled the band around to the final hook. This show was wholly unnecessary as I was capable of easily hooking each bra without so much as a grunt. Perhaps other women feel better about getting all spend-y on bras if it seems that the store staff is seriously exerting themselves. The most concerning event was when the sales lady referred to my right breast as my "titty" which I'm trying to convince myself is a technical term.

At the end of the day I went in for the bra equivalent of buying every album ever released by a new favorite artist and purchased THREE (only vaguely grandma inspired) bras for a shocking $196. So the obvious question is do these new riggings increase my boobage stock by $200? Hard to say. I asked a coworker to check out my rack (it's a casual work environment.) and while she agreed that "they look good!" she claims to not have been regularly checking them out in the past and so could not offer a comparison. Clearly this girl is a huge liar. I can tell you one thing for certain -- there ain't no rocking on this ship. The girls are strapped in and immobile. I think this is generally a good thing.

"On Losing my Identity" or "Who Moved my Boobs?"

It has been way too long since I’ve written anything about my boobs and I know that I am sorely in danger of losing my readers. For those of you that come here every few days looking for more information on my battle with bras and heartfelt analysis of the breasts of reality TV stars – it’s your lucky day. For those of you who work with me? Hit the Back button.

Once upon a time I was a 34DD, today I am a 32C. When a girl loses weight she tends to lose at least a little in her boobs. Women tend to fear this loss. Girls who have always been a little chubby have a tendency to fall into the trap of thinking that their breasts are their only attractive feature. It’s easy to see why – the world hates big thighs and big bellies and big arms and generally big girls – but the world loves big breasts.

I’m mostly fine with my decrease in cup size. While I used to consider my ample chest a possible strategic asset when it came to attracting boys it never served me very well. It sat out there – young, perky, propped up and on display but this almost never resulted in boys actually talking to me (and when it did, they were, unsurprisingly, never the right boys). I prefer to believe that men are less shallow than society gives them credit for and breasts just don’t mean all that much but it’s entirely possible that I just didn’t know how to work it (still don’t.). Either way no big loss to me, I wasn’t attracting men with my boobs two years ago and I’m still not today, the only difference is that now I can buy bras in styles other than "Extreme Grandma." And seirously, have you seen some of my skinny girl hot parts? My clavicles and hip bones stick out just so and I find them much more amazing than my breasts ever were. Though, it should be noted that these assets aren’t exactly delivering the goods either.

In theory I’m fine no longer being a busty girl -- except when it comes to self identification. It’s hard to change a key word that you’ve been tagging yourself with for 15 years so I find myself making jokes about being busty or bemoaning the pain of button down shirts as if I were still rocking a plus sized rack. Usually mid self disparaging comment I remember that I lost 40lbs and oh look! I can see my toes! Then I realize that no one is getting the joke and probably they are thinking “crazy girl, you have normal sized boobs, stop talking.” At this point I feel a little sad, I had some really great big boob related jokes in reserve that are now just going to waste. I can only hope that someday I’ll get pregnant and get my boobs back. Having to raise a messy little cheerio muncher will be a small price to pay for releasing my jokes from the prison of my average sized chest.

For Sale - original high quality matching pair of 34-d series breasts

I wrote this a few years ago as a joke and it was picked up as a "best of craig's list" post -- I thought I'd repost it here so that it doesn't get lost (and cause it's funny) (and cause I love boobs).

I have for sale one beautiful matching set of size 34 D breasts. When I say matching folks I am not fooling around not only did these babies come prepackaged together from the manufacturer but they are indeed twins in color, form AND size. This set is authentic in every way and made from pure human flesh completely saline and silicon free.

This set would make an amazing gift for a girlfriend who needs a little extra, a drag queen ready to really wow her fans or a lonely bachelor in need of a little lovin'. Personally, I don't know anyone who wouldn't be blown away to receive a gift of this magnitude why say it with flowers when you can say it with bodacious tatas?

You might ask why anyone would be willing to part with such a rare find. And though it pains me to see them go I have to acknowledge that I cannot provide the twins with the attention they deserve. Due to an unfortunate series of events* the girls are being forced to waste away their prime caged up and unattended to. I hope that their new owner can find a way to share them with the world and give them a more fulfilling
life than I have been able to provide.

No legitimate seller would expect you to take just her word alone on the quality of her merchandise so I am happy to provide you with the following testimonials:

"Me and my friend just kept asking her to slow dance over and over again at this wedding we were at." Freshman, Saint Johns High School, 14

"I nearly beat the shit out of my friend when he wouldn't stop telling me how nice my sister's tits were." brother, 22

Hey hot mama why doncha let me come over there and suck on those babies? Construction Worker Tino Giacomi, 32


As you would expect a product of this level of quality could cost you a pretty penny even imitation versions often retail for five or even ten thousand dollars. Today I am prepared to offer you a rare deal indeed, you get both breasts, the complete set** for a mere $20,000***. Supplies are obviously very limited so you would be wise to respond ASAP.


*Events to include but not limited to: a few pathetically boring first dates, a number of weird spontaneously disappearing boys, daily ogling without proper appreciation, occasional pawing and a general lack of positive male attention.

** Price excludes tax and transportation fees, buyer assumes all responsibility for installation and product up-keep.

*** Seller may be willing to trade for a new GTI or a credentialed gigolo.

I Broke Victoria's Secret

Yesterday I made a visit to the bra super store on a desperate mission for a tshirt bra. I did all the annoying difficult things:

1. Accepted that I would probably be paying full price
2. Talked to sales people
3. Allowed sales people to measure me
4. Walked around for strangers in only my bra.

No matter what size or style I tried on the middle band stretched in midair between my breasts instead of resting on the valley floor. Eventually the sales lady admitted that Victoria's Secret would not be able to provide me with a bra that fits. Apparently I am a huge freak.

So lesson of the day: Being a girl sucks. Boys never have to go to multiple store trying on pair after pair of underwear only to find NONE that fit correctly. This is why they have tons of extra time to take over the governments of the world. Boys suck.

So now I may have to do the most annoyed and difficult thing of all: Go to a fancy pants bra store. This will surly result in G thinking that he was right even though obviously it is impossible for him to be right because the law of the universe dictate that you can have a penis OR you can have an opinion about where people should buy bras, you cannot have both.

Do you buy a Tit Sling or do you buy a Brassiere?

This is how I think all conversation on the topic of my boobies between me and Mr. G should go:
B: Hi, let’s get naked.
G: awesome!
B (naked now): look at my amazingly sexy breasts!
G: oh my god I love them!!!

This is the reality:
G: you should buy some super expensive bras.
B: because….?
G: most women are wearing the wrong size! And my friend who works at a bra store says all women need expensive bras! And I read this article in the times!
B: so… what’s wrong with the way my boobs look now?
G: nothing!
B: so… I’m spending this money because….?
G: most women are wearing the wrong size! And my friend who works at a bra store says all women need expensive bras! And I read this article in the times!

Now I acknowledge that when we first started dating none of my bras fit right do to my weight loss, I know this, I went to Nordstrom’s, I got measured I bought some $30 bras, DONE. Right? Unfortunately the multitudes of women wearing the wrong bra size has pushed America into an unjustifiable war in Iraq, gotten Hamas elected into power in Palestine and ruined this years tomatoes crop. Luckily, Oprah and the New York Times and good Samaritans throughout our fair land have kindly stepped up to get American women back on the path to righteousness via $100 brassieres.

Buying bras is no fun -- bra size is a sensitive thing in a society where the breasts size is so often seen as directly proportional to sexiness which leaves many women in a particularly vulnerable position. I find the “all women are wearing the wrong bras” movement irksome because it seems so similar to the “all women are too fat”/”all women need to pay $100 for a hair cut”/”all women need $300 jeans” movements. The idea that women need to spend inordinate amounts of money in order to meets society’s unrealistic beauty goals reeks of The Beauty Myth. I’m happy with the way my boobs look now, why do people keep claiming I need a different bra?

With expensive bras there is an under lying implication that not only will you look prettier but somehow wearing a “better” bra will make you healthier. I suppose this is true in the most extreme cases; if you have really large breasts and you are wearing a very wrong bra it seems believable that you might have more back pain than if you had a bra that fit correctly. But let’s say that my 32C should really be like a 34B what is the difference going to be? I don’t have back pain or painful rubbing or anything with my current bras so I’m not sure what a slight adjustment would help.

Of course maybe I can’t even imagine the changes that will occur in my life once the catalyst of fancy new bra is triggered. I *think* I’m happy with my boobs now but that’s probably because I have never experienced the bright shiny utopia that lies beyond the land of incorrect fit, right? Again… so what? I’m *happy* now – why must society constantly question women’s happiness with their own bodies? Why am I not the best judge of how I look and feel?

I suppose in part I just don’t wanna be a sucker. I picture some Scrooge McBrassier swimming in his pool of money laughing at all the women he’s conned into expensive lingerie and I think, “Not me bitch! I bought my DKNY bras on ebay for $7!” I know there probably is no mastermind consciously out to keep women down by making them spend all of their money on beauty enhancements but women are still asked to spend way more money on their look then men (despite consistently making less) and this can only lead to women never being as financially secure as men who make the same amount of money. I’m not sure the expensive bra fad is a sham – it’s probably more credible than diet pills and padded jeans – but when women are told that need some product to be pretty/happy/good enough I get suspicious.