I used to have a column, I don’t think a lot of people read it but dammit I was proud of it. I decided to dust off a few old columns that were published and put them here. This one is about breasts. Yay!
Contributing Writer
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It came to me yesterday, while I was flattening my hair and pumping up my bra size.
Am I a phony?
I’m a relatively natural girl. I don’t tan. I don’t dye my hair; I think big fake lips look stupid on white girls. I detest plastic surgery and comment on those MTV plastic surgery shows with the generic, “Wooah, those people are crazy!”
But I’m not being completely honest. The truth is, I have my phony ways. I get my nails done, wear makeup and I straighten my hated, hated curls constantly. And I admit to succumbing to the phoniest of all phony things: I give “my girls” a little false advertising.
Less than six months ago, you couldn’t have paid me to wear a push-up bra. I used to love my smaller breasts, because, well, they’re cute and darling. But one night, I was at a bar, and I turned into a monster all because of one look. (Please forgive me, dear boyfriend, for what I write).
I caught him catching a peek at a big rack. Quelle horreur!
Now, before you think I’m here to slam men for looking at boobs, take note: I looked too. It was hard not to. This wasn’t a particularly attractive woman, and I, being sharp as a hawk when it comes to these things, knew they were not real. But right as I thought that, boyfriend had the gall to whisper in my ear, “So, do ya think they’re real?” (That’s none of your concern, mister.) There they were, all pushed out and up, and suddenly, I felt like the Chairman and CEO of the Littlest Angels Training Bra Committee.
I looked down at my at-least-three-cup-sizes-smaller, and flew into a tailspin of self-consciousness. I literally went crazy. I started thinking ludicrous thoughts like, “oh my God, men really do like me for my personality,” and, “I need to find me one of those ‘ass’ guys.” Except I don’t have much down there, either, and I don’t think women have the right to break up with a guy for noticing the same thing.
I then took a trip to Victoria’s Secret. This is not the place for women to go to when feeling insecure about their breast size, it’s like holding a sex addicts anonymous meeting in Bangkok. They have gigantic-sized cutouts of models posing in their underwear. Ten-feet tall women, five feet of that is breast.
I bought four expensive Miracle Bras (I think “miracle” is a rather insulting noun, but I digress). As I put on my first major push-up bra ever in my 26 years of life (quite a feat for an American woman), I felt…
Big. Impressive.
Big is something I’ve never felt. I’m petite all over. I wear four-inch heels and can still be the tiniest person at a party. It can be a great thing, mind you, but all of the sudden I realized what it felt like to be big. And it was totally awesome.
The next day, I put on my Miracle and a low-cut top. Immediately, my boyfriend asked me I was really going to work “like that,” and put wrapped a scarf around my upper half.
“You once asked me why I never show more cleavage,” I pouted.
“Um, I asked why you never showed more cleavage around me, not everyone else,” he explained.
I see! If he was looking at the woman in the bar showing off her missiles, he knew other guys would undoubtedly be staring at mine. That was a threat to his territory, as my breasts were his possession. (Again, dear boyfriend, forgive me.) Damn, these things are powerful!
I asked some girls to weigh in on the Big Breast spectacle. My friend Sarah is probably the most natural, minimalist-type girlfriend I have. She carries a wallet because purses make no sense to her. I asked her if she would ever consider implants. She, of all people, said, “Maybe, if it weren’t so insanely expensive to a poor chick out of grad school.” My friend Kate, who is already endowed quite well, said, “I definitely would consider it, they are already starting to sag a bit. I waited 18 years to grow boobs, and believe me, bigger is better.”
What? Surely two attractive girls with advanced degrees and good jobs wouldn’t feel the pressure to purchase breasts.
But it was my friend who works in the adult entertainment industry who actually made me feel better. She works as a photographer and porn web site moderator, and is pretty used to talking about anal sex in normal conversation.
And how does she feel about photographing women with implants?
“As a photographer, the need for implants isn’t about changing the size, it’s about changing the shape. Small, firm breasts are much more aesthetically pleasing than saggy ones of any size. Of course, if a girl goes too big, the new shape will look unnatural and it will limit the girls amount of work she can get,” she said.
So now I know if I ever want to be a porn actress, there IS such a thing as “too big.”
I asked her what guys on her chat site had to say about implants.
“Actually, the fans hate breast implants. They call implants bolt-ons. They start threads talking the girl out of her decision,” she said. She also mentioned that only one film star had gotten a thumbs-up for getting implants because her breasts had been very misshapen before.
So there you have it. If it doesn’t matter so much to men who spend hours a day looking at porn stars, it probably doesn’t matter to my boyfriend or countless other non-lecherous boyfriends out there. I guess I’ve realized that looking at big breasts for men is like looking at big diamonds for women. Oh sure, they’re nice, and we may even want to touch them, but we don’t have to have them, and if we do, then we’re pretty shallow.
My friend Sarah summed it up even better than I could: “I think guys just like to touch any kind of boobs.”
Indeed. In that case, I’m tired of being a phony. It makes me totally paranoid.
Sarah Nester Harangues You 