I think that the worst way to gaslight someone would be to steal all their bras and reverse the adjustment of the straps so you make them think that their big titty got bigger and their small titty got smaller and they stand in front of the mirror lookin at the titties like wtf
— 🦄 Meghan Sara 👻 (@MeghanSaraK) March 17, 2018
Bras are very close to my heart. LITERALLY. OMG. I can’t believe I pulled off that joke. But in all seriousness, it’s an important topic. A loyal and well-fitting bra is like a gift from the heavens. The “Wrong Bra” will set you on a course for disaster and low-level frustration for as long as your tits do inhabit it. And I am having a bra crisis.
Target has stopped making the bra I’ve been wearing since… basically, since I started wearing bras. Oh, there were a few bras before that, but make no mistake: the push-up plunge style with the hot pink bow between the cups (and pretty much an entire cup size’s worth of padding) has been my jam For The Longest. First, because they came in Fun! Prints! And! Patterns!, and I had them polka dot, snakeskin, hot pink leopard styles. Then Target got BORING and started making them in only black, white, and a range of nudes. Boooooring, but I still bought. I hadta replace the old ones, see?
But now they’ve stopped even MAKING this style, and I’m losing my mind. You might say, “Calm your tits!” but that is EXACTLY THE PROBLEM, MY FRIENDS!
Let’s admit it: we all have the “comfy bra.” Or at least, a favorite bra. Ol’ faithful. That was MY BRA. I mean, I didn’t mess around: I found a comfortable and affordable bra that gave me the tits I always desired and Cruel Nature never gave me? I bought one in VERY COLOR. But over the years, they’ve all slowly started dying on me, my faithful veterans of moderate cleavage and comfort. There’s only so long that an underwire can survive being washed in a machine, after all. And that padding gets smooshed down over time! One bouyant and supportive, the cups wear thin, then the straps start to get stretched and wonky, and before you know it, you’re basically strapping on a craft project around your torso and hoping for the best. That’s no way to live!
Now, imagine you can’t replace them. DAMN.
I feel like a newborn fawn. I’ve been buying THIS SAME BRA for so long, I wouldn’t even know where to begin buying a DIFFERENT bra. I’ve only ever assumed my band & cup size (“Laughably Small”), and I own exactly ONE OTHER BRA, which cost me a day’s pay at the time, and it’s not even all that comfortable!!!
I’m going to have to go bra shopping. I resign myself to this, because I was pulling on one of my remaining bras this morning when I noticed something odd. Singe marks on the strap. NO, not the shoulder strap. The part that goes around your chest, under your armpit. Had clearly gotten set fire to, just a little bit.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?
Now, you KNOW I would never put a bra in a dryer (Thanks, Hedwig!), so it’s not what you’re thinking. And it’s probably not what I’m thinking, either: that Gloria Steinem is astral-projecting into my bedroom when I’m not home and taking a lighter to my bras to remind me that I’m a terrible feminist. It’s… probably not that. I use fire and hot tools at the workshop all the time, but I’m usually 1) wearing shirts and 2) I think I’d notice if I set fire to my armpit???? But now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it, and I can feel the itchy melted nylon in the tender underarm area every time I remember. So I guess I gotta trash this bra, too, huh?
Frankly, it’s a long time coming. We all know that bras have an expiration date. We just… choose to ignore that fact when it comes to Our Favorite Bra. And I thought I was smart! I thought I gamed the system by buying one of my favorite bra in every color. I also recognize that, as Chair of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, I am privileged in that I could afford to buy a bra that worked for me at a discount emporium such as Target for only $12.99-9.99 a pop. I realize that specialty bras and specialty stores are needed for those with more breasts than me, i.e., basically everybody. I’m still bereft, and confused, and uncertain about the future. Of my breasts.
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