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My bra size quickly went from a 36B to 36C, and then to a 36D. Mari G., 19, she/her, student: I used to pray that God would bless my chest with some killer boobs, and when I was 11 those prayers were answered. Another of my friends views binders as representing “freedom and restriction.” Em forgoes bras all together. My friend Marlee’s first bra represented a step toward womanhood. My friend Izzy was uncomfortable with her breasts but learned to accept them through her involvement in sports. Bras make my friend Mari feel confident and sexy. I recently talked to a few friends about their experiences with boobs and the garments that hold them to show how different each person’s story can be. I grew up thinking that everyone’s experience was exactly the same because I only really knew one version. I can still fit comfortably into that same Target bra but I no longer feel like I’m missing something because of it.įirst bras, binders, and other underthings are milestones in and of themselves. As my body grew, and I realized that my boobs weren’t getting much bigger, I made peace with my breasts and accepted my itty bitty titty committee membership. The fact that my bra size wasn’t that big made me feel like I wasn’t girling right. To me, bras were the ultimate symbol of maturity and femininity. I chugged milk and scarfed down ramen (Google told me this would transform my AAs to DDs) in hopes of speeding that process along. I held onto the hope that my boobs would grow in eventually.
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When I got my first bra in seventh grade, I was disappointed that the Target purchase didn’t magically transform me into “a woman.” I was still the same flat-chested Ogechi. I saw Victoria’s Secret ads of glamorous models with gravity-defying cleavage and couldn’t wait for my own awe-inspiring rack to develop. Rummaging through my mom’s drawers, I’d find intricately designed lace bras with cups the size of my head.
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For as long as I can remember, bras have fascinated me.