I’d like to be frank.
Not a man named Frank. Just frank.
Frank about boobs.
Lots of people have them. I have two. They’re pretty cool.
It took me a long, long, long time to think they’re pretty cool.
When I was younger, I couldn’t be frank about my boobs. They shamed me.
I was thirteen and hated myself for not having the hot tits of a developed woman. I wanted to be like Alysa Milano or Uncle Jesse’s wife on Full House. I had high standards, you see. And while all my other friends were sprouting, I was a boy with a ponytail.
During that awkward junior high period, I HAD TO BE PERFECT. I can guess, but I’m not quite sure from where this controlling neurosis came. I insisted on straight A’s. I needed to have popular friends. And I spent hours… HOURS… in the school bathroom with my portable curling iron perfecting the wave of my bangs. I controlled all these elements, so the fact that I could not force my own breasts to grow was utterly painful. I wanted big boobs. I wanted to attract men with cars. I knew they were somehow connected.
This was before the teenage plastic surgery craze of today, a time when silicone was still something only weird Californians knew about. I didn’t even think to beg my mom for implants. Instead I stole her bras. I think it’s pertinent to the story (sorry mom) to state that my mom’s bras were…um… very large. I filled them with anything at first. I went through shoulder pads, paper wads, and even water balloons. I settled on some skin-colored pads I got at the fancy swimsuit store. They weren’t my skin color; they were someone else’s skin color.
I was sure these pads made me look like a pin-up. With this new set of perfect breasts, I pranced around like Rudolph, sure that this new, top-heavy bod would manifest the kind of guy with a Ford Escort or maybe a Geo Storm, the kind of guy who wore overalls with one strap unsnapped. Others didn’t share my vision. You see, everyone at school knew I stuffed. Not just because I miraculously grew mom-sized knockers one day. More because I was so careless. I wore very revealing bodysuits (yes, bodysuits) with my Bongo jeans, and the pads were constantly peeking out the sides. Plus, I didn’t really have any cleavage. It was just very obvious that something was amiss. Yet, in denial I stewed. So much so, that I wore those not-my-skin-color pads until they were really not my skin color. They turned black from daily use and sweat. And years of wear. Years. When I got a lifeguarding job at sixteen, I finally moved on to another form of padded bra that I could sew into my bathing suit. SEW! I had somehow convinced myself that nobody would like me if they saw the real size of my non-existent boobs.
Finally, something clicked that set me free. I don’t remember what it was, but let’s say it was profound. Maybe I found two small pebbles in a clearing. I don’t know, but one day during my junior year I finally FINALLY finally ditched my pads (or cocoa puffs, as some of my peers called them). I embraced my small tits. And to this day, I wear them proudly like I would a polar bear skin if I were in some indigenous Eskimo tribe. I love them. They work well in tank tops. They point to people. They don’t really bounce around too much. They are rad. I’ll say it again: I fucking love my boobs.
Society, however, feels otherwise. Now, after all this work to accept my imperfectly perfect pancakes, bra makers no longer make bras in my size WITHOUT padding. They don’t exist in regular stores. I cannot buy a bra that doesn’t come with its own version of the not-my-skin-color pads. Victoria’s secret is that small boobs are not allowed out in the world.
I’ve looked through racks and drawers and shelves for bras to find only items with cute names like ‘demi’ or ‘push-up’ or ‘Tshirt’– all full of styrofoam. If I want an actual bra in my small size that’s just made of lace or fabric, I have to special order it from Spain. Special order! From a special store not unlike Manny’s Big & Tall Emporium. Being frank about your small tits in America is just as rare as measuring in at 7 ft tall. I’m interpreting this to mean not that I have a strange body, but that American standards are ridiculous. And that European men will appreciate my breasts. One day when I am gone, you will know that I’ve moved to Madrid. And that I did it for the boobs (and also to stalk Javier Bardem).
This may or may not be my boob shot by a fellow fan of small boobs, my fabulous photographer friend Leo Reinfeld.
{ 29 comments }
American standards are really sick. I ranted about that in one of my blogs, too. In California (Hollywood) you are supposed to have the narrow hips of a twelve-year-old boy, the tight sinewy muscles of a man, and the full firm breasts of a lactating mother.
Paging Doctor Freud!!!!
They want you to look like a lactating woman/boy, but God forbid anyone ever sees an actual lactating woman breastfeeding- GROSS!
It's way jacked up.
I think you're perfect just the way you are.
I like my boobs too. I would NEVER alter them. Yuck.
It's impossible to have straight A's and then have popular friends. Last I checked all the popular kids in high school were like "Hey man, school is for the birds, let's go to the Malt Shoppe." Unfortunately I was the one raising my hand saying "Stewart, we can't get milkshakes! Our Rutherford B. Hayes Prject is due in 3 weeks!"
Then I did the project alone.
In conclusion, I like any boobs.
Yes. I think we really are the same person. However, I did not go to such great lengths…or any lengths, really, to LIE TO PEOPLE! ;)
When I was a little girl in my grandmother's clothing store, I used to love stealing the shoulder pads that the seamstress would sew into clothing and put them in my shirt. I was absolutely convinced no one would notice them. I was 7.
Boobs are awesome. Big, small, they're all great. As long as they're on a woman.
Whenever I see a girl who looks like she'll flash her boobs (like those chicks on guys shoulders at music concerts) or a titty might accidentally pop out, I become transfixed and I totally hope I get to see her boobs.
Sometimes I think I could be a lesbian but I just can't deal with those pesky vaginas and that's kind of dealbreaker when it comes lesbianism.
Vive le tits! Or something like that.
Actually, I am addicted to TV and in watching the award shows this month I've noticed that many of the "stars" in designer clothes are showing off their lack of cleavage (except for the Spanish chick on "Modern Family" who knows what she's got and likes to shake them.) Maybe we could call this the LAURENNE trend??
As a guy who tends to date women on the smaller side of the boob train, I've heard the most critical comments from other women. Guy friends are like – "well, hey, not my cup of tea, but you like what you like."
Women, however, come up with comments like "oh, so you like dating little boys!" (No, and not little girls, either, thank you.) And "real women have curves." (Hey, small-breasted women have curves too. You just need to get a little closer.) I'm not sure if it's out of their own insecurity or what (I suppose their comments are in defense of the attractiveness of their own size, and thus similarly motivated)…
But it is strange. One of my last girlfriends took me along to Target. She needed a few new bras. We quickly figured out that we had to shop in the teen/preteen section to find anything that fit her properly. All the stuff in the "Women's" section looked like a pair of oversized pointy yarmulkes for Andre the Giant and his posse. And I don't think they actually got any smaller than a C cup. They just added padding to fill the empty space below that.
This is a great post.
Maybe you should start your own bra line.
Rahul – it's not impossible to be smart and popular. I was both. Sort of. Like one of the less popular of the popular kids since I had no classes with them. Yeah, that's it.
Also Rahul…I hope you realize you just admitted to liking man-boobs.
I learned today that I am a European man, because I prefer small breasts.
Boobs that look like they could smother me are scary. On account of the smothering factor.
And hey, you won't have back problems from the big boobs you don't have. Think about it.
My boobs were always 34 B until they weren't and I actually reduced them because they were so different and as I aged they needed me to set them in place. Now they are back to being the same. Love my boobs now more than ever. I was 60 when I did this so I lived with unevenness for a long time. Don;t know why boobs grow so much before and after menopause. Watch out women, the boobs are on the march.
I'm so envious of your flat chest. I have the opposite problem and have spent the last 10 years considering breast reduction surgery. Being top heavy means never getting to wear cute spaghetti strap tops or anything that buttons up the front. My tops are size 14 to my size 8 bottom. Bra straps cut deep into my shoulders and I have almost constant back aches from trying to hold up all that weight. Even doing yoga or other exercises is challenging.
Big boobs. If anyone wants them, they can have mine.
I always wanted big boobs and yet there was nothing there until I was 16. I envied the girls with cleavage and had boys ogling them. The braces and acne didn't help much either.
Today I'm still torn. Accept my small boobs, where I can wear more styles of clothing, or yearn for bigger, fuller boobs?
I had the opposite problem. I woke up at 12 and suddenly had a rack. I was accused of stuffing, and there wasn't a thing I could do to prove them otherwise. (because there was no way to truly prove anything without doing something that would land me in an even more ostracized position. junior high? rough.)
I personally ADORE sports bras. I spent plenty of time pushin those babies up, torturing them with underwires, etc… and have now realized that any bra besides a sports bra eliminates my handy cleavagepocket to hold my iPod.
Loved this, as usual with your blog. I had the same problem at Victoria's Secret – and then they asked me if I ever try push-up bras. When I said no, the lady said, "Why NOT?" I didn't want to go into a diatribe about how much I like my small boobs, so I said, "Unahuhnuh…" or something equally, intelligibly awesome. Someday they will make normal bras for us too. Or I will totally stop using their free coupons. Or something equally, fiercely awesome.
First off, GREAT SHOT!! Boobs are gorgeous and photo same.
Okay, I'm a 34B, but it always felt small. Now I like it too and would never dream of anything else. But in the spirit of sharesies, I used to compulsively hold my finger against the tip of my nose because I thought that would stop it from being so pointy.
B
Woman, I envy you and your small breasts. Why? You can go bra-less. Because of this, you can wear backless things. You can wear low-cut tops without looking like a whore.
I'm not big per se, but the rest of me is little and it's infuriating to factor in breasts to my outfit. Curves are embarrassing on days when you don't feel sexy.
Secret: my breasts ruined my posture; I kept hunching forward to hide them when I was sixteen and voila.
Also, I agree- so annoying that everything comes padded!
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When I was at IIT, a guy named James R. Sala was tickled by a Fugs song called “Boobs a Lot”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPVgKoruWdA
Who are you? I was at IIT and Sala was my best friend. I definitely know you.
RR.
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