Log in

No account? Create an account

Minion of the Universe

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
12:15 pm: My Savage Breasts
It's official, y'all: my boobs require their own zip code.

In college, I had a boyfriend who was a boob man. Actually, that seems like much too mild a statement, sort of like calling a lifelong three-packs-a-day smoker a dabbler in the nicotine arts. He just...he really loved big boobs. So when I'd buy a new bra, he'd come over and gloat. "Wow, four hooks! You're HUGE!" he'd say enthusiastically, and I'd want to hurt him.

Thank god I didn't marry him. Thank you, thank you, thank you, god. Because if he'd been here today, he'd be writhing on the floor right now, while I stood over him and said, "Wow! How convenient! Your balls just detach!"

See, I'm in one of my annual "OMG why are all the clothes gone?" buying fits - basically, I would never shop for clothes ever under any circumstances if it was not for the fact that the old ones wear themselves out without my permission - and bras are a critical element of this annual festival of pain.

So I was looking at bra fitting advice - because typically my bras don't actually, um, fit all that well - and I saw this piece of information:

"If your cup seam doesn't lie flat against your breastbone, you need to go up in cup size."

And I was like, "Who the FUCK has a cup seam that lies flat against her breastbone?" I very nearly posted here, asking you to go check yourselves out in the mirror wearing your best fitting bras, but fortunately saner heads prevailed. But I did some, uh, not very covert local observation, and I discovered: other women really don't have magically projecting cups. Their cups snug right up to their bodies and nestle down for the winter.

So, with much reluctance, I got a tape measure and actually measured myself.

This is something where - okay. If I could've chosen to pay $150 to have a stranger in another town measure herself, and that would've worked, I would totally have done that. It is worth $150 to me not to have to take a tape measure to my own body. But, tragically, that technology hasn't been perfected yet. I had no choice but to whip out the ol' tape.

And, like, wow. I never have measured myself for a bra before, but I would say the instructions I was given were slightly inaccurate. I would write them thusly:
  1. Measure around your chest just below your breasts.

  2. Measure around the fullest part of your breasts.

  3. Subtract the first measurement from the second.

  4. Memorize or write down the resultant number.

  5. Bop cheerfully over to the computer and look at the sizing chart.

  6. Cry.
Because according to the sizing chart, my boobs - well, as I said: they needed their own zip code. See, I've been going up in band size, because I assumed my bras didn't fit because I'm fat. But according to the sizing chart, my old band size is actually too high, and my bra problem is that my boobs are fat. Very, very fat.

But I know better than to believe what I read on the internet, so I went down one from the recommended cup size (and that was, yes, still larger than the bras I've been buying) and bought two bras in that, figuring I could publicly mock the sizing chart when they proved to be too big.

They came today. They fit better than any bra I've ever owned. It's pretty clear that if I went up a cup size, they'd fit perfectly.

And that is...that sucks. Because I was already out of the pretty bra range, where you can have things like bows and prints and frolicky cotton. When you switch the little size box to my old size, the color box goes down to just four: white, black, navy, and beige.

But now. But NOW. The size I apparently actually am - when you switch to that, you get just black and white. And the only bras that come in my size at all are what you might call Extreme Ordnance bras - like, these things are not so much sewn as they are constructed. By bridge engineers. Out of high-performance steel. Their general design message is, "Whoa, girl. What have you got in there, watermelons?"

One of the bras I got today has SIX hooks. SIX. And it's a cup size too small! The actual proper size is probably going to have GIRDERS.

I can just picture my college boyfriend's unbridled glee at that piece of news.

I kind of wish he was here, actually. Then at least someone would be delighted at the news. Plus, I would be able to be mad at him, and that would make me feel better.

But he's not. So I'm just posting a little note to say: if you want to send something to me, I'll be at the old address. But if you want to send something to either of my boobs, well, I'm going to have to call the post office. Because there's just not room in this zip code for all three of us.


[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 07:16 pm (UTC)
"If your cup seam doesn't lie flat against your breastbone, you need to go up in cup size."

And I was like, "Who the FUCK has a cup seam that lies flat against her breastbone?"

DUDE. I just last week read that very same thing. that has NEVER HAPPENED TO ME IN MY LIFETIME. Weird!

And that is...that sucks. Because I was already out of the pretty bra range, where you can have things like bows and prints and frolicky cotton. When you switch the little size box to my old size, the color box goes down to just four: white, black, navy, and beige.

*nods sadly* PRetty little bows? No. Lacy and cute? No. Patterned stuff! with, like, cherries or pink kisses? HA.

I was doing research in order to buy a strapless bra, and it fits better, but I think I did what you did, thinking NO WAY could my boobs be that big. Only - yeah. They ARE.


[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 07:24 pm (UTC)
Exactly. Exactly.

I just need to accept it. My boobs are not pretty. They have not been pretty since I was 15. They will never be pretty again. These are not dress-up boobs, here. Because apparently if you've got the kind of acreage I'm fronting, you don't even want pretty bras. You want the kind that say, "Hi! I don't have time to pretty. Have you seen my day job?"

*sighs very heavily*

*commiserates right back at you*

(It's totally worth going up in cup sizes, though, in the sense that OMG SO COMFORTABLE. And there's not, like, way more boob than room, so you don't have random boob parts popping out to say hello. Worth it. Just: sad.)
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 07:30 pm (UTC)
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 11:14 pm (UTC)
I know this is going to seem awfully random, but I would like to cry because I'm not even 19 (despite what my userprofile says) and I'm a 38G, I'm the biggest cup size on there! *weep* But that seems a cool site, so thanks for the link.
[User Picture]
Date:June 15th, 2006 05:26 am (UTC)
Go to the front page and click on "search by size." They have it, I swear! G isn't that bad. :)

I definitely commisserate, though. When I was 18 or so, I was a DDD cup, not so big really, but pushing the limits of what you can buy in stores. I made the trek into the big mall in the next town and went to Victoria's Secret, thinking I could maybe find something pretty.

Well, I walked in, looked around for a minute or so, and then asked a clerk (possibly the owner, actually) for my size. She looked at me like I was CRAZY INSANE and said "DDD?!?!??! You will have to have that custom made! Very expensive!"

I was like. Bitch. Here I am, almost a child, and you're treating me like a freak for having large breasts in a goddamn BRA SHOP?

Victoria's Secret is on my permanent shit list. That's just not kosher. Period.

Anyway, the point is, you're NOT alone--just look at this thread!--US underwear culture is retarded, and I swear to Bob there are pretty bras in your size out there. :)
[User Picture]
Date:June 15th, 2006 06:55 am (UTC)
Oh, criminy. I had exactly that experience at a Victoria's Secret. I went in with a boyfriend (the college bf Boob Man, actually) because he wanted to buy me something pretty, and I was already fairly dubious, but when I told the saleswoman my size, she looked at my boobs like they were made of dog shit and said, "Oh, god. I don't think they make them that big. You could try one of the stores for, um, large ladies, I guess."

I was 16. I was body conscious. And I wore a fucking 34DD. I was not Boobzilla! (Then. I was actually at the start of my birth control pill spurred Boobzilla growth phase; if I could go back in time, I would whap me upside the head and say DIAPHRAGM, HONEY. The hormones made my boobs grow and grow and all but sprout wings.)

Thank god for the boyfriend, who stared straight at her concave chest and said, "Or we could maybe go talk to someone who actually has breasts." And then we got the hell out of there.

*still bitter, though*
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 07:32 pm (UTC)
OMG. BLG, you have to go check out Fig Leaves. basingstoke just linked me to them, and OMG! They have nearly pretty bras in ginormous sizes! They have torpedo holsters with LACE!



*um, literally bounces, and OUCH*

*goes to put on one of the new bras*
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 08:01 pm (UTC)
omg, dude! PRETTY, and wow, not hugely expensive! YAY.

(hi, so after this post, I decided to measure myself again - at work, yes - b/c the other night, I figured my measurements HAD to be off. No. It turns out I'm at LEAST an E, but that is still denial - F is likely, FF is more likely.

*stuffs my breasts into my ineffectual bra*
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 09:19 pm (UTC)
Ooo. Looks like I need to visit this figleaf thing as well. If you're from the same Brookline as me, you will feel my pain: I occasionally get caught short and have to buy bras at Lady Grace. >_<
[User Picture]
Date:June 14th, 2006 10:57 pm (UTC)
My thing was always suck it up and buy the ugly bra, and then stick stuff on it. Ribbon, lace, tiny squares of interesting fabric, acrylic paint. I used to adjust them to fi or patch them as they wore out. There's one that I still fondly call 'the frankenbra', which is made up of about three favouritely comfortable but alas deceased prototypes. I've since lost most of my boobs (running, not surgery), but I have some of my old bras up on the wall. I drew wolverine on one... there's another that's covered in little lacey patterns of diamantes.

No-one ever saw my boobs. But they were DAMN pretty.
Powered by LiveJournal.com