A Bra called Malice or Boris or Derek

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Bra, Brassiere, Over The Shoulder Boulder Holder, Tit sling, Cleavage Commando, Upper Topper Flopper Stopper.  

What do you call yours? I’ve been wanting to write something about this subject for a while as its a subject that’s close to my heart, literally. I realise it’s a subject that may alienate a good proportion of my followers although I know there are plenty of men out there who are equally as familiar with the subject. 

I feel like the bra probably was designed by someone who doesn’t need to wear one for all of their waking day and I feel like we need more bra wearers in STEM subjects to turn their brilliant minds the design of the brassiere.  There has to be another way surely. 

Those of you who know me know that I am much in need of a bra. I am not a member of the itty bitty titty club (apologies for any offence caused) I have what can only be described as a substantial bosom. I didn’t ask for them and in many ways they are a bit of a burden. 

I remember quite clearly when my boobs started to become a bit of an issue.  As a little girl growing up with an older sister I couldn’t wait to get my boobs. I would steal my sisters bra’s and pop socks in or an orange and she would go mad (I also used to borrow her shoes but that’s another story) I’m sure my sister won’t mind me sharing the irony in this recollection as nowadays and for a long while now if she were to borrow my bra she would be stuffing the cups with a duvet or cantaloupe melon. Apologies Kaz. Because yes, I came from a household of nice normal little boobs. So mine came as a bit of a shock. 

Like I say, my first memory of my own boobs being slightly noticeable was when I was around 12. I was super skinny. So skinny that my nickname was Skellybones or Sparrow legs. An older teenage boy I knew commented one day, wow you’ve got boobs, where did they come from  I shocked, looked down and was surprised.  My mom had been suggesting for some time that I give up my vest for a bra but none of the other girls in my class wore one so I was loathe to do so. I had to succumb and my first proper bras were a twin pack of berlei starter bras, one pink floral, one lilac floral from the Kay’s catalogue and so it had begun  

The second episode was similar, a couple of years later. I was sunbathing in my friends back garden in a newly purchased string bikini. Her sisters boyfriend arrived. We knew each other, had done for a while but I guess he’d only seen me in generally baggy clothes, as was my want.. He took a few pictures of me. I later found out that he had also taken some from the upstairs window and that he had also then shown them to the lads at youth club, commenting who knew she had all that going on under her t shirt.. Looking back it feels pervy and invasive but they were different times and I’d not yet released my inner feminist but it was the start of the boobs becoming seen as a separate entity to me. A glimpse of what I was to learn of how some men are completely mesmerised by a pair of mammary glands.

I think I then started a campaign to disguise my boobs by way of loose fitting clothes and hunched shoulders. This lasted into my thirties when new found confidence and a attitude of if you’ve got it flaunt it emerged. It was also a realisation that try as I might I couldn’t really disguise them. I often say to my hubby or daughter, do my boobs look big in this and they generally nod and say your boobs are just big. Full stop. They look small in nothing, not even those minimiser bras that were a thing I tried back in the day.

So now I must come on to the great bra scandal. Those of us who suffer as I do are literally discriminated against. Not for me a trip to primarni  or Asda to throw a two pack of reasonably priced bras in the basket. No for me, many years and pounds spent in expensive and specialist lingerie shops. If I added up my lifetime spend on bras and swimwear I could be living the life in some swanky penthouse flat or country pile. Bras for bigger boobs are nothing short of daylight robbery. I get there is  more material but the manufacturing g process is basically the same (give or take a small amount of scaffolding) so I can’t understand why instead of £12.99 for two I have to pay £40 for one. A couple of bikinis for holidays, not much change from 200 quid. Not only that but, many bra manufacturers, despite saying they cater for bigger busts actually don’t. They stop at certain cup sizes like E or F. If you are Good God or above you’ve basically shit it.

Of course my hunt for bras was recently intensified. I have always worn under wired bras and after years of fruitless searching and shelling out dollars for bras that were like wearing a metal band of scratchy uncomfortable-ness, I had settled on a brand and style that suited. Over the years I have had to face the dread of a style being discontinued and frantically panic buying all remaining stock. Also having the same bra in all the colours they do. 

Now I needed to change to a soft, mainly cotton non-wired bra. Easy enough I hear you say..WRONG. There are specialist places for post surgery and radiotherapy bras. But did they go up to my cup size, no they didn’t. Clearly only women of specific bra size get breast cancer right? I can’t remember how many I must have tried on. All this at a time when it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I would hazard a guess at the 30 plus mark. Even bought about half a dozen of them in attempt to find something suitable. At this point I refer you back to previous expenditure and add a few quid for a specialist bra but lucky you it’s vat free because it’s medical. I have even written to a few manufacturers such was my desperation. The response ranged from nothing to we are thinking of expanding our range in the future. 

So the choices currently are a bra that gives you a mono boob suitable for resting your chin or cup of tea on or a sheepdog style (round em up and separate em) that creates a chasm between your cleavage but means you can’t put your arms down because your boobs are in your armpits. This style also gives you a pointy boob that will have a random passerby’s eye out if you turn sharply. I joke about it but I think you will feel my frustration and glimpse how little things like this can really chip away at the old self-confidence and feel-good factor. 

Then we see this other strange phenomenon .  The bras available to me have something disturbing in common. So little Miss Itty Bitty’s bras are delicate wisps of lace named Willow, Amelie, Amari, Madeleine and the like  

The bras in my size range are called Doreen, Eileen, Cynthia and Bertha. I kid you not, they might as well be called Derek, Bruce , Hairy trucker, or Boris. There is even a Delicate Doreen that is not in the least bit delicate. What are these designers thinking of. It doesn’t inspire you to buy or make you feel good about yourself when wearing. It’s the insult to add to the injury. Spend shit loads of money on a implementation of torture and be insulted into the bargain.

I don’t know what’s to be done. I feel I need to rise up and start a revolution and I just might as soon as I find a bra that I can comfortably wear for the duration of such an uprising. Who’s with me?