Braless

We're parting ways

Photo by Pablo Heimplatz on Unsplash

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I have always been cursed blessed with large boobs. There was no training bra for me, whatever that was. No messing around with the pointlessness of no underwiring. Straight in at 34C, more as a necessary piece of scaffolding than a rite of passage.

Bra fitting is one of those things that I like to avoid, right up there with a smear test. The waiting outside the changing room, I imagine is a bit like death row, where you get to be picked next, if you’re very unlucky. Where a middle aged woman with a moustache, a tape measure round her neck and glasses on a chain literally sizes you up and suddenly you have a number, that makes as much sense as algebra.

These traditional department stores are a British institution that both make you stick your chest out with pride and forget that you are not in fact in a confession booth and you shouldn’t start sharing your deepest darkest secrets.

Like old friends you stick with this number until you start to fall out, literally. You solider on, ignoring the spilling out and double breasts until you can take no more. You can figure this out on your own surely without revisiting the woman who is going to judge everything in your life, with one look at your bra. She is the Mystic Meg of sensible lingerie after all. She sees it all in the grey, the washed out, the threads hanging out version of underwear that has got you through some tough times and it shows.

You hazard a guess, what’s the next letter in the alphabet, D? There we have it, 34D it is, there is nothing that makes you feel quite as smug as though you’ve just calculated the landing zone of a Nasa space capsule. That’s it, you’ve made a choice. There is no going back.

There is a point when you like to feel as though you are mature enough, adult enough to return to Mystic Meg. You are still cringing as you stand in front of someone who is both professional and must see hundreds of boobs and bras that don’t fit properly together a day. You can feel yourself holding your breath like a deep sea diver and you are waiting for the bingo caller to shout the final number of your card.

“34F”

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from shouting “House!”

I’m sorry, I think my ears are bleeding. I don’t have the capacity to congratulate myself on my circumference for not expanding, only to be reeling about how did this happen? I am gently coaxed into a chair with a sympathetic smile and it is confirmed that I have been wearing the wrong size bra for (aherm) some time.

Armed with this new and slightly nauseating information I purchase 2 pretty, but practical bras that are about 1 million % more expensive than I’ve had to fork out for bras before. I feel as though I should buy myself a congratulatory mini battenburg selection or a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. I don’t, I’ll have to save for the next time I need a bra.

The Wedding Bra

A special occasion needs a special bra, so special that nearly 20 years later, not only do I still own it, I still wear it on special occasions, because it fits, it’s still in fine condition and it makes my boobs look nice and it reminds me of a very gorgeous day where I felt absolutely gorgeous. It is not an every day bra, so don’t even think about suggesting that it becomes one.

The Lost Years

I have both gained weight and therefore probably gone up in bra size and lost weight, 3 stone when I got married when it seemed to fall off my boobs before anywhere else. It hasn’t escaped my notice that The Wedding Bra still fits me now, even though that is when I was at my slimmest. I’m guessing it must be some kind of bra magic that you get to experience once in a lifetime. So I’ve fluctuated between sizes, before going back to what I know and gradually accepting that 34F was the final answer.

Until recently when no matter what style I buy, no matter how many reviews convince me how comfortable and perfect it is, I am left with the disappointed feeling that I am being squeezed by a boa constrictor, that refuses to let go of its prey. I have one old bra that doesn’t do this, but I don’t know how much longer it is going to hold on. I have a sneaking suspicion that it might go out into the garden and burn itself.

I’ve also tried a sports bra, which when trying to get over my head, leaves me in many undignified positions, whilst I try and untangle it from my back, whilst simultaneously getting it to stretch over my front. It kind of works, but instead of digging in my ribs, it’s digging in my shoulders instead. The rest of my body is very confused. “Are we exercising or not?"

Today I made the decision to go braless, I’ve thought this through, I’ve no plans on leaving the house. I have a carefully prepared speech for the postman or any deliveries. It’s been a heatwave here in the UK and frankly me and my boobs have breathed a huge sigh of relief. I’m going with a vest top over a vest top, so far, so good. I’m waiting for my husband to say something, there is an increased ‘bounce’ that surely won’t go unnoticed.

I have always been self conscious of my boobs. I have experienced the “I’m looking, but not looking” more times than I can say. Once when I was in college, a boy just came out with, “aren’t your boobs massive?” I’m the one who went bright red and immediately crossed my arms over my chest.

There is no grand feminist statement that I’m trying to make. More of a quiet rebellion against something that has made me feel less than, rather than more like a woman to this point in my life.

So deep down what do I really want?

To feel comfortable in my body, to feel liberated, to feel free. To not feel constricted.

Maybe is was never really about the bra. I feel like I may have been given a gift, whilst I was focusing on something else. That’s sneeky.

What to make now of the fact that all my favourite knickers and socks are now reaching the end of their best before date.

Maybe the braless experiment will continue for a bit longer.

The next Wellness Pool, The Crystal Waterfall is opening yourself up to the sacred waters that allow your one true voice to become truly heard. (bra optional).

Blessings of love and magic,

Louise x

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