YOU KNOW YOU’RE A SISTER when you’re trying on a bra, and every bra nightmare you’re ever had comes sling-shotting back at your self-esteem as if loaded and launched from a 44DD, and you start to get just the eensiest bit hostile in the dressing room at the pooches and the pouches, and how you look nothing whatever like a Victoria’s Secret model, and you leave 19 bras in the dressing room, buying none, and go crying to the car and call your sister.
“Shopping for a bra,” may be the single worst phrase in the retail lexicon. Substitute, “purse,” or “shoes,” or even “sex toy,” and few if any of us feel the tiny slivers of icy humiliation that run right up the collective female spine when the word “bra” is tossed into that quote.
It’s not that I haven’t had a good fit or two along the way. There was large, red-haired Orthodox Jewish man at Manhattan’s famous Orchard Corset (where Madonna is said to have gotten her Gaultier pointy-cups), all those years ago, who simply glanced at my fully clothed chest, called out a size I’d never in my life imagined being, and then handed me what turned out to be the single, comfortable, properly-fitting bra of my life. Problem was, it was ugly. Medievally ugly. But comfortable. Such kind comfort sonnets are written about. But fetishically grotesque. So ugly was this bra that no one ever saw me in it, despite the fact that I wore it all the time. Relentlessly kind but hideous, it was the Shrek of bras.
What followed are years of misery, after I refused to go back for more ugly bras (and there was that little tiny issue of calling out my size in the store), and instead again set out on my own into dressing rooms, almost always emerging with exactly the wrong thing and, of course, buying it anyway, and calling my sister to kvetch.
Last week was stacking up to be no different. My arms loaded with bras of all shapes (and the wrong size), I stomped into the Macy’s dressing room, expecting the worst, and got it. But this time, my teenage daughter was in the next dressing room, and despite my previous personal experiences, I knew I had one of those chances to change the course of history. This was confirmed after seeing the slump in my daughter’s mood after her own dressing room try-on. And so we left Macy’s and walked the mall. And while I have no more faith in the Victoria’s Secret Angel than the next woman, something made me stop, think, and calmly stroll into the place, go up to a saleswoman, and say the following thing:
“Please help me.”
My daughter looked stricken. Was her mother really going to talk about breasts with a stranger? Yes, apparently I was.
It took six trips and maybe 25 bras, including a recognition that yes, I was choosing the wrong cup size, wrong band size, as well as the wrong styles, until I hit what could have been the really big snag.
“This fits,” I told her, as I took the bra back to the saleswoman, “but I’m pooching out a little under the arms,” to which the wise woman arched an eyebrow toward the enormous black and white photograph of the near-naked model in a heavenly-hovering mode just above us, and said, “Everybody does a little. Everybody.”
Later, at home, I dialed Margaret and told her the tale: I had new bras for the first time in years; my daughter had learned the lesson that you ask for help even when the subject is your own breasts; and that you do not leave empty-handed, no matter how hard it might seem, to which Margaret said the two loveliest words a sister can say:
“Good job.”
You know you’re a sister when that happens.
We’re collecting sisters’ versions of when we know we’re not out there on our own. What’s yours?
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First time here? Here's the idea: 
No surprise, really, that sisterhood, often life’s longest relationship and always one of its most important, has been the Muse for so much creative self-expression by women, and also by men. 
As the suffix of its name suggests, 
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Hi, Maggie: And welcome to TSP. What a grand idea that is. You had me at, “no pooching, no pinching.” I’ve been pooched and pinched like a bad melon for years. Cotton ones? How cool is that? I’m all over this, sister. Thanks so much. And please come back for more soon.
I can relate to Norma’s post above. I also enjoyed reading the posts about ’spilling over’ out of bras, etc…. I just never experienced that stuff! Was like reading fiction since was news to me! I guess I’ve always been a bit envious of you gals out there who actually HAVE breasts to put into a bra. Please appreciate what you have ladies. Bras have always been a touchy subject for me. But, now in my older years I’m at peace with how I’m made (small), embraced comfortable clothing, and accepting the body God gave me…..but yet, I admit I still wonder what it must be like to have cleavage??? Oh well…..
Shopping for bras is the ultimate form of modern day female torture. I recently had the majority of my bras stolen out of a laundromat washing machine and now have to purchase a whole new collection. Wouldn’t life be easier if it was socially acceptable to go without?
Hi, Carly: And welcome to TSP. Oh, that’s low. That’s meaner than mean. That’s diabolical. I mean, first to find one that fits. And then to lose one. But more than that? That’s beyond bad. May the bra goddesses smile on you in the future. Please come back soon. We’ll have more bra tales to tell.
OMG! finally i found women to share my nightmare bra stories with…….i have them in all colors and all styles. especially those that my husband (bless his heart) loves and i hate. those that actually fit he hates. isn’t there a company that actually makes beautiful bras that fit normal women?
Hello, Elayne. And welcome to TSP, where the bra might not always fit, but the stories always do. How very marital, absolutely, that the ones that fit best are not those adored by the beholder. Oh yeah. We know, we surely do, but we love hearing it from you. How sisterly of you to share your woe. Thanks for that, and if you ever do find that perfect store of the perfect fit bra, please let us know. In the meantime, do please keep coming back for more.
I continue to be amazed at helmut bras. You know the ones-polyformed 1/4″ thick domes. No possible hint of a nipple, ever! When did the appearance of an erect nip become verboten to the under 30 crowd? I find it increasingly difficult to find a simple single-thickness fiber to support the girls, because of this mono-maniacial trend of ‘keep the kids hidden’. I find it a curious contradiction-minis up the wazoo and hidden nips.
Hi, Mary. Welcome to TSP. I know. The so-called T-Shirt Bras, are what were known in the 50s as “foam domes,” and I always wonder just how we got so prudish. Seems a shame, yes, as well as (as you point out) wildly contradictory. Thanks for the insight; please come back son with more.
I have yet to find a bra that I like; even from VS. Every day I cannot wait to take the darn thing off and just breathe. Bras pinch and squeeze. I feel like I’m wearing a pair of Stilettos when I’d rather be wearing a pair of flats.
Welcome, Anna-Therese. We’re so glad to have you here at TSP, especially with a comment as snappy as this. Were I writing a book on bras, I would include this as what in journalism we call a “pull quote,” meaning something in large type that glows right on the page. Marvelous. Please come back soon.
I’ve been reading many of your works, and after reading the 15 rules girls should live by and the whole talk about “self-esteem” it simply seems that you’ve got a lot of that to work on still in your own lifestyle.
Hi, Angelina. Welcome to TSP. I guess like everyone else, I’m a work in progress.
After reading today’s post (Don’t they all look bigger in French?) I had to come back to the original post and re-read. Oh, the memories and the laughing…I nearly dumped my coffee on the dogs (no worries – coffee secured and dogs are fine!)
The first attempts to get the girls decked out…I’m short, and proportionally, there’s always been enough rack to fill out a sweater, at least since I was 13 or 14. My gramma was a buyer for a local department store, and it had a bra lady. No training bra for me – I went right into Playtex, a B cup, as I remember. I don’t remember the experience being horrid – but I do remember wearing a lot of jumpers and overalls in high school (hey, it was the early 70s) and there were the undressing for gym self-conscious moments.
BTW, later on (my mid-twenties) I started working for the same store where my gramma had worked – and I became not only a ‘bra lady’ but a suit fitter in mens. As much as we hate being ‘measured,’ I promise you no guy likes being measured for a suit by the typical gray-haired tailor, either. But that was probably preferable to being measured by a chick in her 20s!
Continued on in my lovely moderate 34B cups until … birth control pills. My doctor told me that couldn’t possibly be the reason, but I guess I’m the exception, then. Within 6 months of starting BC pills I went from a manageable 34B to a 38C, and then a 40D – even though my weight remained the same. Suddenly I defined that pin-up girl hourglass figure – in the very early 80s when everything in my normal size was fitted for women without racks. Larger sizes covered the girls – and were way too long in the arms and too big in the shoulders. Aieeyeee! I had stock in those tiny brass safety pins to keep my button-front shirts from gaping in the wrong places.
Tried all sorts of ’solutions’ that weren’t – and spent nearly two decades in the sports bra/uni-boob compression look. Oh my, *that* was flattering – not! Simple, though, and no more safety pinned blouses.
BUT there IS a happy ending…or middle…the now.
About seven years ago I was looking at my ragged and stretched out collection of uni-boob makers, and before heading out to replace them I caught a Breezies Intimates presentation on QVC.
Yep. A bra from TV. With lace. And bows. Support. Magical fabric lining that was supposed to keep you cool and comfortable, like my sports bras never really did. Underwire (or not). In pretty colors. And in a 40D (most of their support line goes up to 48DD, some even larger.) No dressing rooms, no bra ladies and no public display of bra idiocy. And if I didn’t like it, I could send it back – full refund, no questions asked.
I measured – at that time, they were even giving the measuring instructions and demonstrating them on TV. I called in my order for A45771. It wasn’t outrageously expensive – around $25. I had it in a week.
AND IT FIT.
It had looked kind of like a Shrek bra (I love that description!) on TV – but that’s not a bad thing when you’re replacing a raggedy collection of uni-boob sports bras. An on me, it didn’t feel or look shrek-y. Better – I looked GREAT in my clothes. omg.
I wore it all day – and all night. I trained agility dogs in it (no bouncing.) It was 100% humidty that first summer – but I never felt like I needed to wring out this bra at the end of the day. I went online and ordered one in every single color. When I lost weight, I bought more in my new smaller size. I branched out and tried different styles in the same line. When I went on chemo, and had a chemo port mounted into the muscle over my left breast, I thought the weight of the infusion needle would drive me crazy – but the support in those bras saved me. And no matter how intense the chemo hot flash, at least my bra make me feel like I was soaked through.
Whether you’re a smaller size or you’ve got more rack than a sweater-girl needs, a nursing mom, a woman who’s had breast surgery – Breezies has a bra that might work for you. They’re lacy and pretty and you look great in your clothes, without feeling like you have to rip off body armor at the end of the workday. So for every one of us who’s ever faced a bra lady and felt lost, you might want to try them out. The online measuring instructions are easy, and you can return it if you make a mistake.
I won’t wear anything else…when I wear anything at all. ;)
Yo, Pat. Thanks for this. And Breezies sound fabulous. Will check them out.
Bra Rants—Large Breasts Come and Go…Down
I want to extend the rant to include breasts. Yes breasts; the reason for bras.
Ah, the joys of puberty. I had a permanent bruise on my back from “friends” grabbing and snapping my bra. As if I needed this reminder that I was the first to wear one. I had a meltdown one night thinking of Ma Kettle movies; images of a flat chest with two bulges resting on my stomach. My mother, large-breasted herself, assured me with a laugh that this would NOT happen to me. Oh how they lie to children! When confronted with this lie just the other day her response was…”well you felt better didn’t you”? Yes, I did for a time.
And then there was college where large breasts were seen as an automatic challenge to virginity. Freshman year an upperclassman told me I wasn’t a virgin. I asked how he could tell. His reply, “look at you.” Apparently the going consensus was that the genetic anomaly of large breasts also affected cognitive ability.
Flash forward to bar hopping after college. I found myself slipping and sliding on floors wet with masculine drool. With mouths wide open and eyes riveted on my chest, men tried to convince me time and again to give in to their charms. Charming.
And forward again to menopause, during which I was to be a maid of honor. The obligatory trip to the specialty undergarment store was made and after putting on the strapless corset—which for me needs to consist of two jockeys, hands high above their heads to hold me up—I noticed that there was a depression above the cup instead of the romance novel “mounds of love”. When I asked the stout, unsmiling attendant about this lack of “love” she replied, “things just aren’t like they used to be.”
Bra Rants–Sports
Large-breasted sisters unite! Why do the racerback bras decrease in number and eventually disappear as the size increases. Do we not bounce? Do we not have divots in our shoulders? Are we condemned to eternal movement? Man may be bipedal, but once maturity sets in, large-breasted runners become quadrapedal. And, for those of us who are active equestrians; nothing ruins the picture of a beautifully moving horse more than the blump blump of breasts at the sitting trot. Lose weight you say? Hmph. Large-breasted women remain so no matter what their weight. Short of placing our breasts directly on the stairmaster (and somebody let me know if this works!), we are what we are. Please Please Please…all you bra makers out there pay heed. Large-breasted women MOVE.
Hi there, Lynne. You could write a fine memoir based on these three periods of your very own body–specifically, your own chest. Yes, sister. It’s a good tale. Thanks for bringing it here where many women are nodding their heads as they read this. Come back soon.
Hear, here! You tell it, sister. And then (if you haven’t already) check out the Athleta and Title Nine catalogs, who advertise “no bounce” sports bras that suit everyone. We hope to read you here again soon.
Thanks for the comments Marion. Unless Title Nine has changed in the last year, they still serve “mini mees.” I’ll check out Athleta tho.
But, companies like Athleta (Moving Comfort?) and Title Nine still only carry bra lines featuring the mainstream bra sizes … like “DD” and occasionally maybe a “DDD”. But, these are just not enough for really full-chested gals. The better companies (like Panache, Le Mystere, Fantasie, Freya, Chantelle, Anita) have a much larger range of cup sizes (up to G, … even K). In addition, most mainstream companies that only make large cups in “D”s don’t make them in the smaller band sizes. Real women with large breasts aren’t always “large boned” … for example, I typically wear a “G” cup but my band size is only a 30″ or 32″ … and I am not a freakishly disproportionate shape! In fact, when I wear a properly sized bra most people never notice how large my “girls” are relative to the rest of my body–it is the poor-fitting “multi-D” sizes that make me look unattractive and feel uncomfortable. If you need a non-mainstream size do go to a good bra store (Intimacy is one good chain in a lot of large cities) or try ordering online at a specialty site like BareNecessities.com or HerRoom.com. Stop spending your time and money on ill-fitting bras from mainstream vendors.
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