Making Mountains Out Of Mole Hills
They say you shouldn’t judge someone unless you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. I’d like to amend that statement. You shouldn’t judge a woman unless you’ve lived a day in her breasts. As this subject matter is close to my own heart (pun intended) and recently in the news, I felt it was time my breasts and I told our story.
I was a late bloomer, a very, very late bloomer and found myself looking like a 12-year-old-boy in high school instead of a developing young woman. One instance that stands out in particular was me being asked by a Senior to Prom (at the time I was a Freshman). My mother and I hit three different malls (taking all day) to try and find something that would compliment my petite figure. Dress after dress and nothing fit. I’m short (5’2″) and at that time, I was very flat-chested so the dresses were too long for my height, cut wrong (if they were short) for my shorter torso (hello Stumpsville) or gaping at the bust. Oddly enough, at an import store we found a ruby red Mandarin-style dress that worked perfectly but the gauntlet of inadequacy I had gone through that day in one dressing room after another left me feeling very low and wish for a body other than the one I had.
Side note: I had a great time at Prom, however post-Prom, I learned that the Senior that had asked me out had only done so because he thought I would sleep with him as a thank you for the invitation (in his brain I think he thought it was a privilege and honor). He was pretty pissed when he found out he had to take me home as I had no interest in the hotel room he’d booked for the two of us – needless to say, my father was equal parts proud of me for sticking to my guns and ready to go get his.
As of late, Lady Gaga has received a great deal of attention; but not for her fashion, rather for her figure. There’s been criticism about her weight gain prompting her to start a Body Revolution. In an article detailing her struggles with her own body image, she said (referencing high school):
“I was fifteen to twenty pounds heavier than I am now, ” says Gaga. “I would wear shirts that were low-cut and the teachers would tell me I couldn’t wear them, and I’d point to another girl who was wearing the same thing. ‘Well, it looks different on her.’ It wasn’t fair.”
Picking up where we left my 16-year-old self, fast-forward a decade (give or take) and I’m in my mid-twenties figuring out who I am as an adult. My breasts decided to grown then to my delight and I found shopping so much more enjoyable and was proud to finally feel more like a woman. However I learned an interesting lesson in regards to the professional world (one which I was starting to enter career-wise). Skirts and button up shirts, blazers and slacks became part of my wardrobe from 8-5 each day but I noticed that my button up shirts would gap or pull in the chest area (ill button placement – tank tops as layered were often employed) and that sweaters showed my curves a great deal more. One day at work I was wearing a grey long-sleeved turtleneck sweater, black tights, skirt and flats and was asked by my boss to step into her office. Apparently the Office Manager had complained, she’d felt I was dressing too provocative at work, that form-fitting sweaters (despite covering nearly all of my upper half) were too suggestive (because I had larger breasts, 34C but a smaller figure). I was shocked more than anything and was too naive to understand that this conversation was very inappropriate and discriminatory. Now what had been such a joy for me, something my 16-year-old self had wanted so badly years before as I sat crying in a dressing room with discarded dresses mocking me from every corner once again became an inadequacy or rather an over-abundance. It wasn’t fair.
Side note: On my last day at work, I wore a black, figure-fitting, long-sleeved, turtle-neck sweater with a silver playboy bunny logo running across my chest. Call it my Holy Hand Grenade that made the Office Church Lady hopping mad.
Fast-forward again a decade to present day (and my mid-thirties) and I’m at work reading an article about Christina Hendricks of Madmen. Her red hair actually inspired my color-change a few years ago and her beautiful curvacious figure makes me proud of my sex, proud that someone wasn’t willing to change despite Hollywood’s obsession with youth and perfection (often times courtesy of Photoshop) and the painful trend of the fashion industry to employ models that are nothing even remotely close to the average woman’s shape (and many of them suffering from eating disorders to remain that way). The article was interesting because it sang praise for those such as Christina that had ample breasts and weren’t afraid to flaunt them on the red carpet, in this instance, at the Emmys.
“The amount of cleavage on display was not just a sexual statement but some kind of dare, an act of confrontational femininity that challenged viewers to reevaluate any preconceived notions they might have about large breasts and their impropriety.”
It seems that the beautiful Christina took what Jennifer Love Hewitt said to heart:
“I just accepted them [my breasts] as a great accessory to every outfit.”
Shouldn’t we all?
I’ve found the perfect balance of exercise and healthy eating (good habits that will help carry you into old-age gracefully) now that I’m in my mid-thirties and though I’m thin, my breasts remain large. I’ve come to terms with my body and know that I’m perfect each and every day no matter what figure the scale shows (in fact I don’t even own one) or how curvacious a sweater may make me (impropriety be damned) and as for formal wear, I’ve learned that a good tailor can work wonders.
So, whether you have mountains like Christina and my now 32Es or mole hills, make the most of them. They’re yours.