32A
A couple weeks ago I wanted to write an article about why it’s okay to go bra-less and how girls should love their boobs for what they are. It was going to be one of those things where I reach into my heart and spill sentimental messages all over the page. In this particular article: messages about body confidence and breaking the social norms in a strong female kind of way.
There were a few reasons I was interested in writing this. First of all, I had finally come to terms with fact that I had always been and will always be small chested. I was even able to sincerely say I liked my small boobs. Second, I had started wearing a bra less and discovered how freeing it was. A year ago, I wasn’t even comfortable going bra-less in my own house. Two years ago, my friends and I laughed about a girl at our school because she never wore a bra. I’ve certainly come a long way since then and I can’t say I’m proud that we laughed but we did because not wearing a bra was taboo. That leads me to the third reason I wanted to write this article. Going bra-less isn’t generally accepted and women’s chests/nipples are sexualized. I wanted to promote and spread the idea that it should be accepted to go bra-less. It should be okay for women to do so.
I’m afraid, now, that if I write such a thing I might feel like a hypocrite, telling women to love their boobs when I’m not sure I’m completely content with mine. I suppose it’s difficult to be 100% content with your chest, but until a few days ago I thought I was.
Learning to like my boobs was a process.
When I was in fifth grade, I got my first bra, probably still one of the most exciting moments of my life. I really didn’t need a bra and my innocent chest could’ve belonged to a boy the same age. I didn’t care whether or not I needed it, though, I just liked it because I thought it gave me a little shape. It was that small white bra with various colored polk-a-dots that made me feel grown up.
When I was in sixth grade I would lay on the couch and look at my chest trying to convince myself something significant was there.
When I was in seventh grade, I would push my boobs together and look in the mirror to see what it would look like if I had an actual line between them.
When I was in eighth grade I learned about this ridiculous thing called boob contouring on the Internet. I tried to contour my boobs with a bronzer and I looked ridiculous. Turns out it doesn’t work very well if you have nothing to contour. The bronzer just ended up irritating my skin and making my chest really itchy.
When I was ninth grade my friends and I were at the mall and had somehow gotten on to the topic of bra sizes. I was so embarrassed for not knowing mine when they asked but I just never really needed to know it. I didn’t buy bras that often and when I did I just picked out the smallest one. They all tried to make me feel better about having small boobs by taking me to Victoria Secret to try on push up bras, all of which ended up being too big for me. I went home the same day and asked my mom if she would take me to Target to buy a push up bra. She did and every time I wore it I would pull extra skin into it to try and make it look as though I had more cleavage.
Yes, there were plenty boob insecurities. They started in fifth grade, after the maturation clinic, and worked their way up into the continuing years of my life. Eventually, though, I tackled them. It took a while but I was able to do it. I was able to confirm that I liked my boobs… until an unfortunate night a few days ago.
Years of me deciding what I thought was worth valuing and what wasn’t, gone. Gone in one single night because of one single boy whose role in my life is simply insignificant. I was made, by this particular boy, to feel less desirable to boys, less wanted by boys, and less worthy of boys, all because of the fact that I’m small chested. The thing is, physically, I still love the fact that I’m small chested. I think small boobs are cute and they’re so much less painful. I can run up the stairs without a bra on and it doesn’t even hurt. I can collapse onto my stomach and jump up and down pain free. What I hate, and what makes me feel self conscious about my small boobs once again, is the idea that small boobs makes me less desired and less worthy.
There’s a huge problem with the fact that I feel less valuable because of my bra size. There’s a huge problem with the fact that other girls relate to this. I know it’s hard to be 100% content with your boobs but I have to do something about all of this, so I’ll work on 99%. I intend on resolving my personal feelings on all of this and I’m going to correct my thinking. I just hope it doesn’t take six years like it did the first time.
This isn’t really the article I wanted to write and had planned on writing a few weeks ago but it was the article I needed to write. I’ll write up my original idea once I feel credible doing so. This is what I can offer for now, though. I hope it can be appreciated.
Written: 07.12.16
-Kate
