I’m a Feminist With Breast Implants
I don’t regret them, but I do regret my reasons for them
I’ve never been great with money. Approaching my 21st birthday I decided I couldn’t wait any longer for what I wanted and took out my first bank loan.
With a terrifying £4000 that I didn’t earn burning a hole in the humble bank account I’d had since childhood, I scheduled my breast augmentation.
I was still technically a child when I made the decision that I was now going through with. In my teens I was obsessed with Michael Jackson.
Looking at how much surgery he had undergone didn’t scare me like it probably should have. I was mesmerised by his transformation - and in particular I resonated with his reason for changing his appearance so much. According to an interview I’d read in a music magazine, he couldn’t stand looking like his father, his abuser.
I totally got his remark that seeing his abuser in the mirror was too much, so he had to change his face. As an abused child myself, I could not have related to that more.
I looked at my mother and couldn’t bear the thought of growing up to look like her. Not because there was anything really wrong with the way she looked. But she was self-conscious about her small breasts and I didn’t want to have that hang up…
