Gee I need support!
Now how the hell did THAT happen?
At school they called me an ironing board. (Actually they called me a WHOLE lot of other things... I'm just one of those people who inspire nicknames, I think it may just be that my first name has 11 letters in it and no one bar people in interviews who religiously use your name as per CV could bother with the whole Jacqueline thing). But at School... defo ironing board.
As everyone else proudly paraded around the changing rooms in pretty confections of lace and embroidery... I was still in a vest.
I spent ages flaying my arms around chanting "I must, I must , Increase my bust".. but nowt happened. I left school aged 18 and headed off to college with a chest so flat that I could double for a spirit level.
It was at college that I was introduced to a life altering substance... a concoction of ethinylestradiol and levonorgestrel. Yes I got involved with a drug at college and worse I continued to take it for 10 years! What drug was this?! you may ask.......knowing as you do my zero tolerance position on drugs. Well the life altering stuff was in pill format.. yup a pill... THE pill. Oh yes contraceptive pills have a load of side effects but in my case... after a couple of months... I HAD BOOBS.
Now I'm NOT complaining. I know the value of a pair of orbs to us women - it is no coincidence that a constant in the top three cosmetic procedures done these days is breast implants.
The female form has definite rules when it comes to proportion... it's essential to have a balance with the junk in trunk if one is hoping to achieve a flattering look in clothing... and I think we are all aware of the importance of a decent rack when in beach wear or when we are wearing the only outfit nature gave us.
There are women for whom having a well developed chest has been an essential ingredient to their careers ... I need not role call half of
However, in my case... there was not a knife in sight! Little miss ironing-board thought she'd go on the pill as everyone else was - and suddenly things started a-changing! I didn't notice the changes... well that is not true... I did notice I had become a bit more 'hippy' and couldn't fit into my trousers easily. The chest thing seemed to happen overnight. It was bizarre... no training bra, no double A cups... no warning. I went from ironing board to losing sight of my feet in 8 weeks! From zero to hero almost overnight!
Once I had acknowledged that if I ever wished to run again without causing my self a serious injury, it became clear I would have to shop for a bra. For most girls, this is a rite of passage, conducted in the presence of your mother and with the solicitous assistance of a little old lady who has worked in the lingerie department since 100 years BC. The item purchased would most likely be a confection of cotton or lace and the hardest part of the process would be deciding on a suitable colour and try to slide the fact that the cups are padded or have enhanced uplift past your mother's attentions. You'll want something to impress the girls in the changing rooms... and she'll want something that will not gain attention for your chest from boys.
Of course I was away at college - and with the best will in the world my mother was not about to travel 300+ miles to come and join in a rite of passage that was almost half a decade too late! So my first bra shopping exercise was aided by a copy of a teen magazine and my gay best friend.
We entered Dingles, a huge department store on the Royal Parade and travelled the escalators to the intimate apparel department. There before us was an ocean of pretty confections... every colour, every design ... oh joy! Three months short of my 19th Birthday and I've got breasts and at LAST I'm getting bras!
My friend Krisopher, was a very good choice for a mother substitute... he raised the key question that had alluded me whilst I danced through a department of candy coloured lace picking up every pretty and darn right sexy bossom catcher... "Ummm...it looks like these things have specific sizes... do you know what you are?” Well that stopped the giddy gathering sharpish. I looked at the bras... 32A, 34AA, 36B... what the hell was this? These were not clothe sizes...these were door numbers! "Maybe that is why boobs are called Knockers?" Kris said unhelpfully. It was at that point we scanned the carefully folded over page of my teen magazine and found it recommended getting the assistance of the sales person who should measure you for free and give you your size.
Gay men...even a 19 year old...have amazing power over older women. Kris had to barely say excuse me and three (count them) three assistants were at our beck and call.
The first lead me to the changing room to be measured. Now this is probably the first experience women have of having their breasts touched by another person. No matter what they tell you, accurate measurement of your orbs cannot be achieved unless they are roaming free and unfettered. So, there I am standing topless with my arm out like a crucifix whilst and ancient crone runs a tape measure round my back. "Oooh we are a big gal" she says as she lifts a boob up to complete the circumnavigation. Then it got worse... she then runs the tape again this time over the fullest part of my chest then sat down with a calculator. Jeez!! What on earth had she found?... I was soon to find out... as was everyone else who was shopping in Dingles that day. She stuck her head out the curtain and called to her colleagues, who were showing Kris a selection of pretty lacy numbers.
"Put those back girls... we have a 32G in here!" she roared.
I swear the silence that fell was the most deafening noise I have ever heard in my life.
Now to get a sense of time, I was at Uni in the days before Bravissimo, Rigby and Peller and La Senza. I was in the days of Triumph, and Gossard. The largest cup size you were ever likely to come across was a C.
The assistants scurried of and returned bearing some beige coloured thick strapped instruments of medieval torture by the likes of Miss Mary of
I nearly wept! Gone were my dreams of lingerie.... to me bras had to be sheer... they should be delicate, sexy, desirable, sensual, seductive...god amn it...EROTIC!... but what were offered to me... beige thick material covered in structural sticking and filled with industrial wires that were to offer my chest comfort and support. Gone were the bras with evocative names like The Monaco, The Ipa Nema, The Cristobel... now my only options were The Doris, The Gladys and The Vera. And worse... Doris, Gladys and Vera were almost twice the price!!! I had waited 5 years longer than anyone I knew for a bra and THIS was my reward!!!
Kris.. whose family originally hailed from a german speaking region of
Well times have changed.
Rigby and Peller, Bravissimo, La Senza, Freya... so many more companies the list is almost endless... Pretty bras for larger cup sizes. It has taken a few decades but at last there is almost equality between us full chested girls and our flatter chested sisters. At last seductive not structural seems to be the way for bras from 30-50, AA-JJ! Yes, we fuller chested girls require a damn good bra structurally if we are to keep our assets off our laps and have a flattering sense of proportion when dressed. BUT it has been a long time coming for us to be able to even flash a delicate bra strap instead of a wide expanse of thick beige elastic. AND AT LAST... I too may retire to the bathroom to remove my day clothes and 'slip into something a little more comfortable'. I too can now pose in a bathroom doorway with my assets beautifully framed.
HOWEVER... the battle is not over yet.. our bras still cost more, designers cleverly having one set of gorgeous designs up to C cup and a whole new set of pretty designs for anything over that. Others who have designs running in all sizes are introducing surcharges on larger cup sizes. You don't pay more for larger shoes.. but apparently you have to pay more for larger bras!
But I love my long awaited for assets. Yup 32G is not average. Having a slight frame whilst being big at top and being big on the bum gives me an hour glass shape that I would not swop for all the gym bodies in the world. It means my weight can fluctuate and no one notices... hour glass is a very forgiving shape I am ye to find a shape that rocks evening wear or beach wear as convincingly. Day to day wear does have to be thought through a little if you do wish the males of the species to talk to anything above your neck though. It's really not too much of a sacrifice to have to spend more money on bras... the positives do outweigh the negatives overall.
The other day I was walking down the building site that is our local high street. As usual a builder felt obliged to highlight to me the size of my chest in case I hadn't noticed it. "HEY!" he shouted smiling down at me "BUT YOU DON'T GET MANY OF THOSE TO THE POUND!". I looked down at my chest, then back up at him and smiled, shouting back "YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT!!!"
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