Eloquent title, eh?
I know I reference boobs a lot in my posts, and I've already somewhat ranted once before about the obnoxious shit that women have to put up with thanks to America's unsettling obsession with boobs.
But here's the thing: I've been putting up with judgment and stupid assumptions based solely on my chest size since I was eight years old. Eight. Let that sink in for a minute.
As of right now, Victoria's Secret doesn't carry bras in my size. Victoria's Secret. I'ma just leave that one there for now, as well.
To the best of my knowledge, the consensus is that if a woman has large breasts, any cleavage whatsoever amounts to "showing off," "asking for it," "begging for attention," "being a whore," and any other number of not-so-nice assumptions. Boobs covered? Awesome - but if your top happens to be form-fitting at all (ie: not a shapeless tent), all of the above apply.
The only acceptable attire for women with a bust size over a B-cup, apparently.
And so, dear readers, I present to you an educational rant about what it's really like to have comically large boobies in today's society.
1: "Modesty" Has a Different Set of Rules for Large-Breasted Women.
If I had a quarter for every time I've been accused of being an attention whore (or just a whore) for wearing comfortable clothes, I'd own every arcade, pool table, and claw machine that ever existed throughout history.
Quick question: It's 110 degrees outside, what do you grab to wear? A tee shirt? A cami? A muscle shirt? For most people, all of the above are acceptable. For someone whose boobs have their own gravitational pull, that scenario brings on an anxiety-filled quest to find something that will sufficiently cover but won't boil them alive in pools of their own sweat.
Clothes that fit properly are almost impossible to find, because it seems that unless you live in California, clothing manufacturers seem to think that a woman larger than a C cup must also weigh more than 300 pounds. Small, Medium, Large, and Extra Large sizes translate to, "LOL," "You're Joking, Right," "Maybe if I Tape Down My Boobs," and "Crap, I skipped right into Mumu territory."
Here's a fun experiment if you don't believe me - shove a couple of cantaloupes down your shirt and secure them in place with some duct tape. (I'll give you a minute to giggle about the "melon" joke that just popped into your head). It's okay if they're uneven; the more accurate the better.
Now, go into any clothing store and try on as many womens' shirts, in as many sizes and as many styles as you can. After a few hours of unsuccessfully finding something that actually fits, untangle yourself from whatever mass of fabric you've got wrapped around your neck and arms, and realize that you've just learned a valuable lesson - because congratulations, now you know the circus that is clothes shopping for a large-breasted woman.
This is the face of a man who has just learned far more about himself than he ever needed to know.
So before you give me a lecture about being immodest because I have some cleavage showing, let me remind you that, in context and comparatively speaking, I'm not showing any more skin than Miss training bra over there whose muscle tee is showing every inch of skin between and on the sides of her non-boobs.
2: Yes, They're Real, and No, You Can't Touch Them.
Again, the idea seems to be that breast size is indicative of sluttiness. I'm going to break this to you as easily as I can: this IS NOT TRUE. A woman can be loose whether she's flat-chested or heavily endowed, and the same is true for women who will punch you in the throat if you so much as insinuate the urge to motorboat her the second you meet her.
Crazy, I know.
Also - just for the record - breast size does not in any way correlate to a woman's IQ. Kate Upton might be able to rocket-science your rear end all the way back to the Stone Age, you don't know. So the next time you're speaking to a well-endowed female, resist the urge to make smacking noises, honking gestures, or slow your speech like you're speaking to a mentally challenged toddler.
...and this is a man's face that's about to be rearranged.
Lastly, large breasts don't automatically mean that a woman has had any kind of plastic surgery. Genetics are a fickle beast, and do you honestly think that if I had tens of thousands of dollars just laying around, I would use them to let someone cut me open and move all my lady bits around like some deranged Mrs. Potatohead?
Whatever, I'm going to Disney Land, b*tches. They'll probably even let me in free if I dress up like Jessica Rabbit.
3: No, We Don't Just Love All the Attention.
Ladies, it's not our fault that boobs act as eye-magnets for anything in the general vicinity that has a penis attached to it (and sometimes a vagina).
It's not enjoyable to try to have a conversation with someone who wouldn't be able to tell us what color our eyes are if they had a gun to their heads, because they seem totally incapable of looking anywhere above collar-bone level. This applies to straight women too, because for some reason that I have yet to put my finger on, boobs are just somehow magically mesmerizing.
It's downright infuriating for no one to remember your actual name, instead dubbing you things like, "darlin,'" "Little Lady," and "Boobs McGee."
It sucks to not have many female friends who don't secretly pray for you to get sudden-onset breast cancer, or to have a whole bunch of male friends who do nothing but desperately try not to get friend-zoned. It takes years of self loathing to come to terms with the fact that many people only befriend you because they either don't trust you or they're only trying to get into your pants - and even longer to fully trust anyone who isn't in either one of those categories.
It's not fun to have women you don't even know hate you because their men stare two seconds too long, and it's soul crushing for your entire worth to boil down to something as superficial as the size of your breasts.
Let's also not forget that it isn't just grown women who are ostracized for having large breasts - young girls have to deal with it, too. Remember when I told you I've been putting up with this crap since I was 8? That's right - imagine the stares, the whispered innuendos, the straight-up pick up lines from grown-ass men - at an age when you're not even totally sure what sex is yet.
If I sound bitter, it's because I am, a little. Totally unrelated to my hair color or bust size, I'm freaking awesome. It's exhausting constantly trying to fight through all the superficial nonsense just to get someone to see who you really are as a person.
Also, my eyes are up here.
*sigh*
So what I was saying is that the Schrodinger Wave Equation is a postulate ... Oh, forget it.
4: Boobs Hurt, and Gravity Is Not Your Friend.
Aside from self-esteem and feelings, having big breasts takes its toll physically - namely the back and shoulders. I have no idea what boobs actually weigh, but believe me when I tell you that it probably take at least twice as much effort for a large-breasted woman to maintain good posture than it does for anyone else. Then there's the issue of shoulder-grooves from bra straps, and chronic lower-back pain.
While we're on the subject, can I bring up the fact that the damned things get in the way ALL. THE. TIME.? Can I put that out there? Because until you've had to literally cross your arms to hold your boobs down to run, or woken in pain in the middle of the night because you've managed to roll over sideways onto one of your boobs and squished the holy hell out of it, or had to sneak off into a side room to relocate each boob to its designated area because they've decided to unite and morph into one giant uniboob or just escape altogether, you don't know the struggle.
And the struggle is real, folks. I've knocked things over trying to pass through small spaces or reach over one things to get to another, I've dunked my boobs into dishes of food trying to reach across the table for salt, and I've actually almost lit a boob on fire reaching for something that was sitting on the back of the stove.
Those comics about the old lady that said she thought she was having a heart attack until she realized she was standing on her boobs - that shit's not funny. Which brings me to the fact that unless you're Bimbo Number 1 in every porno ever made, anything over probably a D-cup ARE NOT PERKY.
I hate to break it to you gentlemen, but real boobs just don't work that way. It doesn't matter if the woman is 21 or 121, there aren't enough chest muscles in the human body to support that much boob. That's not to say that it's normal for boobs to dangle at knee level or anything, but let's be realistic here. This is why breast augmentation is a billion dollar industry.
Yes, this too, but you're missing the point - oh, forget it.
Funny side story, aside from the fact that now I'll have to explain to my boyfriend why I now have Kate Upton's Sports Illustrated cover saved to the computer - when I worked at Hastings, we had like a billion of these delivered for sale in our store when they came out. They were in at least a dozen places around the store.
Someone came through every single day and turned them all backwards. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
And so, every single day, I'd go back through and flip them all forward again. Just doing my job? You betcha. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't giggling the whole time about whoever it was coming back into the store and being bombarded by Kate Upton's half-boobs and realizing that their attempts at censoring them were futile, like the boob demons were taunting them and their offended puritan senses.
BAHAHAHAHAHA, boobs.
5: Women Have Breasts. Deal With It.
This is more of a summary than anything, but for goodness' sakes people, boobs are boobs are boobs. All women have them. Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head.
Sorry, I've been spending a lot of time with my kids lately.
Anywho, boobs, breasts, yabos, gonzagas - they're only offensive if you allow them to be, and you only allow them to be if you're thinking of them in terms you probably shouldn't be thinking of to begin with.
I'd keep going with this, but I'm pretty sure I lost at least half my audience on that Kate Upton cover up there...
Oh, forget it.
No comments:
Post a Comment