I would like to preface this entire section with the clarification that this is coming from a place of love and not bitterness that my younger sister’s boobs came in before mine did. Honest.
Well, hear me out. It’s some indeterminate time in the early 2010s, Taylor Swift is still in the upper echelons of her peak powers and it’s just a smidge too early for all the haters to hate hate hate. Where are we?
Dear readers we are on the cusp of a momentous morning in the Taylor household. It is, after all, the day that all mothers dread and anticipate in equal measure.
The first period.
It’s the signal for maturity, the onset of puberty and a whole host of more complicated hormones and issues that will definitely go down as a ‘tomorrow problem’. The eldest daughter waits in the wings, aged 14 and still built like the boys she will come to ignore in a couple of years time.
No, today isn’t about her. It’s about the younger sister that has recently come into some new currency. Not money, but boobs. Okay, I was largely speaking metaphorically, but let’s not pretend that boobs aren’t a form of potent socio-sexual legal tender. They will get you a drink in most bars and out of most tickets.
Frankly, those of us less buxomly endowed or blessed in that region should receive financial compensation on the eve of our eighteenth birthday hasn’t signalled the levelling up into at least a B cup.
I wouldn’t hold out hope though, my emails to Boris Johnson on the matter of a government subsidised state of booblessness have thus far gone unheeded. He must he more important things to be discussing, like his new snapchat account. I wish I was joking about that last part. Anyhow, before I digress too far down the political rabbit hole that is 21st century media trails, I return to the matter at hand.
I’m trying to look at it positively.
A cup half full, if you will pardon the gratuitous wordplay. I like to think that I’ve come a long way from way back when as I sat mutinously glaring at my sister. My sister who had the nerve, the nerve to get her period and ‘become a woman’ before me. Except it wasn’t really about that. It was about a killer case of Boob Envy, pure and simple. Yes, I was that shallow.
In lieu of this, I’ve sat back and reflected on some of the merits of smaller boobs, and the problems that we don’t face that those of us with larger chests do. We don’t realise how good we have it, guys!
Another small disclaimer – all boobs are great and valid and excellent, and while they in no way define who is or isn’t a woman, it’s still valid to attach feelings of femininity or otherwise to their presence or absence. Even though I’m arguing against the importance of finding differences and celebrating them in unexpected ways, and trying to step back from a physical focus, you are still personally fine to believe whatever you want about your own boobs.
I’m not telling you how to think about your bodies.
But, I’m just making sure that there is a discourse out there to support everyone. Like a good bra. Speaking of bras, that brings me directly to my first point!
With us smaller bosomed creatures, we probably don’t think twice about buying bras. Well, it is a notorious issue with individuals with large boobs, because bras are often less attractive, less comfortable, and often are more expensive. Outrageous! Next time you unthinkingly buy the first floral pattern you see for you’re a cups, respect them! Appreciate them! Give them a break.
Another related but tangential issue is that of sports bras.
While you may think that this is the same thing, I assure you, it’s a whole nother kettle of fish. With sports bras at the best of time you aren’t likely to find a perfect fit. If you are trying on bras as a plus size or large chested individual, you’d best hope that the stars are in alignment, your karma is balanced and that mercury isn’t in retrograde, because otherwise you will not find the right bra for you.
You are probably more likely to meet your soulmate than your soul-bra equivalent. Indeed, when you do find The One, you will overuse it to within an inch of its life and then be back to square one when it finally snaps. No such anxieties over this, or at least not to the same degree, for us over here in the tiny titty department. I say that with only a small amount of relish and smugness to temper all the years I’ve spent admiring hourglass figures.
However, the issue of exercise remains another problem.
Where do you put the boobs when you’re running? Do you double up with the sports bras and hope for the best? That’s another expense, if so. Be proud of your boobs, whatever ladies – we’re all jealous of each other. In that respect, people with big boobs probably wish they were us when we’re all running together. The reality is it’s just not comfortable to run with big boobs. No matter how you slice it!
The back pain. Self explanatory. Chronic.
I can’t be smug for that one, back pain is killer. It’s exacerbated by a poorly fitting bra and poor posture from being, pardon the phrase, top heavy. You have my sympathies. I get my back pain from being about a foot taller than really convenient for my stature. I feel you.
Another benefit of having smaller boobs is that we can go braless in experimental outfits. So, the next time you’re admiring (with no small amount of bitterness) your friend fill out a gorgeous dress with her full figure, don’t forget that your slimmer, boyish looks are coming back into vogue. Both are utterly, utterly sexy either way. Confidence is gold dust, as always.
So there we have it! A few positives and negatives that you might not have thought of in the life of Boob Havers.
We’re all in this nonsense together, and it’s too tiring to be jealous or petty to each other.
Big boobs or small boobs, why don’t we all just make like our favourite bra and support each other!?