These days, I only wear one bra. I probably own fifteen, but when it comes down to it, I pull the same trusty friend out of my lingerie drawer day after day. It has seen better days. I went bra shopping today, in hopes of adding a few to my collection and laying this one to rest. No luck.
I’ve got big boobs. No, they’re not enormous, fake mountains of silicone, but they are large enough. Definitely more than a champagne glass full. Three quarters of the bras available are made to push breasts up or mold them together into two butt cheeks of cleavage. I own one of those bras. Within a week of buying it, two people at work asked me if I had gotten a boob job. That’s not why I want my coworkers noticing me. That bra stays in the drawer, except on very special “first date” nights – it’s not pretty, but it does wonders. The remaining available bras fall into three categories: whisper thin, lusciously lacy and fiberfill. Whisper thin bras are comfortable to wear, but heaven help me should I get cold. There’s no protection against nipple projection. While the outline of my rock-hard nipples may look sexy to you, in the office I don’t want to hear, “Is that a push pin in your bra or are you just happy to see me”. Next come the lusciously lacy bras, beautiful confections of delight. I own handfuls (or would it be “cupfuls”) of these. They’re beautiful and cost a fortune. They are perfect for wearing thirty minutes before you rip them off my body, but all day? No way. They’re uncomfortable, they scratch and the lacy details show through all but the heaviest of materials, making your average cotton blouse look bumpy and rippled. That leaves us with the workhorse of bras, fiberfill – thick enough to avoid nipple projection but not so full to add volume to the god-given assets. My trusty truss is fiberfill. Fiberfill bras are a snooze – they couldn’t be any more utilitarian. It’s not the bra a man wants to find under a gauzy blouse. It’s your mother’s bra. If I’m lucky enough to find the ideal bra – no push-up, fiberfill, with a smattering of pretty lace – then I move into “fit” issues – muffin tops (my cups runneth over), binding like a Victorian spinster or a cut that ensures a good reach overhead will result in a peek-a-boo nipple.
And so I leave the lingerie department empty-handed yet again.
Note: I was so disgusted with my inability to find a bra that I went shopping again after work and found two: a pink one with black bows and a nude lace selection. Saved.