I have big breasts.
That’s not a boast or a complaint. It’s just a fact. I wear a cup size that, to me, feels right on my body. And I seem to be the only person in the world who feels like it’s OK.
I hate that people see that I have large breasts and feel the need to comment, from creepy old men to my co-workers who have said before that I need to cover up more, and that I dressed “inappropriately”.
I hate it, I absolutely hate it, when people tell me to cover up my chest. Strangers on the street, co-workers in an office, anyone. First of all, it’s my chest. I am the only person on earth who has the right to tell myself what I should or shouldn’t be wearing. Every day when I get dressed I make a choice between something with a little cleavage, something with fuck loads of safety pins tucked between the buttons or an oversized jumper. I almost always choose the cleavage, because it’s much more comfortable than having pins stabbing you in the underboob. Or looking like a fucking tent in an over sized jumper with enough material to cover Somerset.
We busty women all know the heartache of trying to find a professional wardrobe. Buttoned up blouses that strain and pop apart at the buttons, or turn into tents over our entire bodies when they’re large enough to accommodate our chests. If it fits in the waist or the back or the shoulders, the chest is too tight, and people leer, or accuse us of being unprofessional or slovenly. If it fits in the chest and it covers the rest of our bodies like a burka, people accuse us of being unprofessional or slovenly. It’s no-win, and it’s crap.
I wear a bra that’s a 40F (which is a fairly large size), and I find myself constantly telling people my bra size – as though I have to validate my body. Like I had a choice in how big they grew?
One thing that massively irritates me is men who speak to me, who just see me as some sort of sex doll with big boobs and big lips and it’s crap. No-one seems interested in getting to know me, they just seem interested in sleeping with me. And it’s shit. My friends are a lot slimmer than I am and have smaller breasts, and 99% of people that speak to them are sweet, nice and interested in getting to know them. And it really makes me wonder if I had smaller breasts would men treat me nicer? Fuck knows, but I like them as they are. Even if it does mean having to deal with more dickheads because of it.
Another thing that really bugs me is when people call women ‘slags’ when they wear a low cut dress or top showing some cleavage. Newsflash! Get the fuck over it already. Boobs happen – sometimes in epic proportions. And it’s not your job to tell a person what they should wear or to judge them on how they present themselves. And if someone wants to upload risqué photos online, let them. It’s none of your fucking business and who cares?! So in the wise words of Elsa, let it go!
Stop acting like breasts only exist for sex. Stop acting like they’re inherently dirty or bad. They’re my body. They are not an attack or invitation. They are a fact.