I was reading an article the other day, Strange Things You Learn When You Don’t Wear A Bra For A week. The validity of the article flew out the window right from the get-go. Two reasons. Sizing & sagging. Which we’ll get to.
This is my own Social Science Experiment on going braless & not it isn’t titillating (yeah, see what I did there?). Anyway. Lot of things to unpack & for an experiment that didn’t go well, it ended up surprisingly alright.
Let’s read more, shall we? Come on!
I did figure out the sizing. I later thought, ‘Wait… they have different sizing across the globe… what if she’s not… from here?’ & that answered my question. I was wondering why she wouldn’t choose DD or DDD, because “sister sizes” in bras don’t work that way, where you can just jump three bra sizes.
If you’re a D cup, you’ll wear a C cup in a larger band size, or a DD cup in a smaller band size. But one didn’t jump from a D to a M or H or vice versa down to an A. Made me feel like she didn’t understand boobs at all. Like she was just some teenage boy that got slapped with some one day & said, “Eh… A cup, F Cup, it’s all the same, right?”.
And really I was wondering that even if the Bra Maths added up that way, anything past DDD is specialty stores or specialty orders, so if she is a D, then why wouldn’t she choose that as it is the easier option to find… anywhere.
Ah, but upon further research, in the UK, the DD cup is an E cup & they don’t have DDD. At all.
Phew! OK, OK, I’m back on track.
Except for the other hitch. The sagging. You can see her stop-animation “With bra/without bra” photos in the article. The difference in her tits is so slight, one could miss it. I mean, she discusses it as some dramatic thing, but there’s barely any movement to her boobs. So that when she exclaims that one of her nipples got caught in her waistband, all I can picture are all the old men who hitch their pants up to their freakin’ necks. As that would be the only explanation with this lady.
No, seriously. She had to have her pants WELL above her waist line for that to happen. And she shows a picture of herself in her thinnest T-shirt & yeah that right boob pitches a little to the right, but you can see her nipples (or the outlines rather) & it’s pointed off to the right. I’m still saying there is no way that this girl understands sagging on an extreme level (which is what she’s claiming) or that she’d have one of her cock-eyed nipples get caught up in her waistband. *rolls eyes*
Unless… her boobs are as saggy as she claims, but in her “without bra” photo’s she’s really wearing a bralette of some kind of adhesives & forgot to edit out that antidote, so that there is trickery afoot? That would track. Or else it’s just poor body image, which I’ll get to in a bit.
Now, I already know myself. My likes & dislikes. I know that I prefer wearing a bra & that the only times I enjoy going braless are bath time, sleepy time, & super secret sexy times (basically completely topless). However, I felt that I would wander down this track of scientific experimentation, just to see.
Who knows, I mean one changes throughout the years liking new things or rediscovering older things or whatever. I wasn’t just going to state something & be done with it. Let’s try it out, I thought.
It went… not well.
I gave myself an hour & barely lasted half that time. I had to change my shirt because everything about this experiment was agitating the fuck outta me. That shirt was moving around everywhere & that was adding to me being pissed off. Different shirt was… slightly more helpful & I ended up at my breaking point of almost 5.5 hours. A far cry from a full five – seven days, but whatever.
I felt like when this lady was complaining about her extremely saggy breasts, I wanted to say, “Hold my beer coffee…”, because she does not understand & in this competition I’d win tits hands down.
There weren’t pictures, but now there are. So, hold onto your bra straps ladies (& err… fellas?).
First off… the bras. I have mentioned in previous posts how I am rubbish at bra maths & just randomly pick pretty things on super sale & hope for the best. I’ll also keep wearing them well after their past due date, because yes, bra’s lose form & shape & have a shelf life so to speak.
What you can’t tell are the alterations that I have made to some of these. That bright hot pink one was my first. I sewed & sewed whenever the underwire was trying to bust outta there & ended up pulling that underwire out. It is old. It has had it, but I just can’t let it go. I generally wear it around the house. You might notice that the end of that hot pink strap has white with it.
It’s a bra extender. I said I’m rubbish at bra maths & bra fittings never worked out for me. Even the bra fitting ladies were baffled. Anyway, so sometimes the bra will need one extender, sometimes two, sometimes none. Depends on the bra.
So, we have, starting at the back, a vintage black no wire Playtex bra (vintage like 80’s not the ’60’s) that I picked up at the thrift store. It’s mainly for hard work & yoga as it’ll keep everything in. Next to it is this red lacy bralette thing, because as I’ve said I don’t do braless & that is my “loungy” bra.
Now the red one that looks like it’s gonna eat all the other ones? That is THE ginormous red bra that I picked up at Target recently. It is actually slightly too big in the band, but there’s no fixing that as it’s all mesh until the side gussets (I’m not sure what those are really called, but they are not cup underwire, but small flat plastic sticks to help with side support.). That’s not an easy fix, at least not for me.
The tropical print one is one I’ve talked about where I kept seeing it & wanting it, but refused. Then it was $5 & I snatched it up. The band is slightly too small so needs bra extenders. Next to it, the tan one was purchased as a set with the purple one on super sale at a department store. The bands are slightly too small, but they are my only D cups. That giant C cup red one could eat ALL the other bras (which are C’s except for the two I mentioned). Hell, that bra, which I do fill, could eat that other lady, so I don’t know how she’s a D/DD?
The black one in front was purchased as a set with a red one. I still have both (& we’ll see the red one later). They both had underwire & a small metal U in the cleavage area, I suppose for added… sexiness?
I have busted the fuck outta both of these bras, though they are my size (…size-ish… whatever the hell my accurate size is) & don’t need extenders. So, both of these bras are wrinkly, & slightly fuzzy tattered (I’m guessing poor quality to begin with, because they are only a year & a half old. The hot pink leopard print former push-up bra is about four years old & looks MUCH better than these two!) like what would happen to a sweater. Also, they no longer have underwire & that U piece had to come out as well & so my tits didn’t just pop out in “SURPRISE!”, I had to hand sew that bit shut as evidenced here.
That white one is my newest acquisition. I didn’t have a white bra & it was $1 at the thrift store. However, it’s so thin, that I might not want to wear it out in public because it’s nipple city with that thing. *sigh*.
Now that the preliminaries are over with, let’s get down to it.
We’ll just jump right to it, shall we? I wouldn’t normally post a picture of me only in my bras, but for scientific purposes how is one supposed to know bra fittage? This is the red bra, the one you saw the hand sewing in the middle & has a twin in black.
Already, I win at this sagging business over that other lady & I’m still wearing a bra. Granted an ill fitting bra, but still. My nipples have & do get caught up in my normal waist band, y’all. The difference in just my tits in bras is far more dramatic than that lady in a bra & out of a bra.
The red one used to fit like the purple one when I first purchased it. I also no longer wear the red (or the black one) out of the house. The purple one (& it’s tan twin) I do wear out of the house.
And in further demonstration a side view of liftage & the gap differences from underboob to waist band level. I am not holding my boobs up in the red bra picture (though it looks it), but was trying to demonstrate levels… apparently not as well as I could have.
I’m sure where we can all see that this is leading. I’ve said it a million times before in numerous posts, but I do not have perky tits that ride high on my chest. Am I OK with this? Absolutely. It’s how they’ve always been since puberty hit. It’s not having kids or getting older or losing weight. These are my tits & I like ’em. I just don’t like ’em gettin’ in the way, which includes getting caught in things (like waistbands or drawers) or having them knock into something or just be on my stomach or escaping my shirt.
There’s a lot there to deal with & having them holstered in is what works for me (besides the fact that I think they have a mind of their own!).
Now I don’t feel like making some stop animation thing (because how does one even do that now a days? & I don’t have time to figure that out), but you need side by side, so here we go. This is my actual outfit today. Too big tan tank top tucked into black skirt with that red bra on. And I think it’s painfully obvious which picture is “With Bra” & which one is “Without Bra”, but if you’re wondering, The left photo is with the bra & the right photo is without.
Ah, but what about a different bra & a tighter fitting shirt. Here we go. The purple bra & a tight fitting tank top. My unharnessed tits are corralled slightly better than a loosely tucked in over-sized tank top, but still. That tank top will end up riding up & nearly choking me & my boobs will be slightly lower & on their way to freedom from the bottom of that tank top!
“Escaping tits? You jest.” I assure you that I do not. Now I have quite a few crop tops that I wear. I wear them with high waisted pants & skirts so rarely do I show skin. I pulled down my skirt a little to illustrate that I’m working with a crop top. That lady from the article could wear a crop top with or without a bra no problem. Half the time on me, I check, because it has ridden up slightly (I have it pulled down in the photos) & the smallest hint of under bra is showing.
And as you might have guessed my tits EASILY escaped the crop top, which I did take that picture & I did cover them obviously.
Which it is quite a dramatic reveal to see in action the removal of said bra & the freeing of these tits, but that wasn’t gonna happen on here. Even though I know my own tits, sometimes it make even me say, “Woah!” & then I laugh.
Incidentally, trying to edit & crop these photos… I got lost. In my own tits. It was just a sea of boob pictures. MY own boobs & I was all, “Nhhhngg….” & couldn’t remember what I was doing. Which made me LAUGH. It’s like if I gave a guy (maybe just a teenage guy?) these pictures for putting together. I think I wasted twenty minutes getting lost in the pictures, which is amusing.
I’m guessing this ladies “saggy” boobs don’t go flat, or not nearly as much, but what would a scientific experiment be without this dramatic difference. So first we have the red bra.
And now the purple, which also illustrates just how different the lift is, not just from the front, which you saw, but also from the side, which I am pointing out. I wouldn’t have the slight L shaped curvature with the red bra as gravity is fulling working them in that very unsupportive red bra.
Also I have side fat & stretch marks & no I don’t really shave my pits. Am I “ashamed” of any of this? Nope. Not at all.
Now that we have the lay of the land so to speak… what exactly happened during this experiment?
I was wearing a purple tank top I generally use for yoga. It’s not as tight fitting as that blue, but it’s a fitting tank top unlike the tan. The bra was the hot pink leopard print one. I was working that day too, around the office (yes, my home office where I am currently).
So, it was weird to whip that bra off right here at the computer & just sit… braless. In a place I’m not normally braless. But it wasn’t freeing like for the lady in the article. Not even a little bit.
I had a slightly better result when I spent about one minute topless in a pool recently. I did this experiment, because I’ve never been topless in deep water. Tubs don’t count, because I barely fit in standard tubs from the early 1970s, which is what we have at this house. I fill it a quarter of the way, get in, & the water is up to or past the overflow drain.
It’s like if you put a hippo in a paddling pool. I have to slosh water onto myself to even get wet this way. And I’m not knockin’ myself when I make a hippo comparison. I like hippos & think they are cool & it is very much like that. Too much biological entity in a too tiny area with not nearly enough water.
Anyways, the deep end swimming pool experiment was weird. Because generally my boobs just float in my swim top so I look like some lady whose gotten a lot of work done to make her boobs defy gravity. But in the actual water they elongated & undulated & I felt like they tried to swim away from me. They felt like they weren’t apart of me anymore.
Woah, man, woah. It was really weird. It made me giggle because it was so far removed from anything I know, but it was kind of interestingly fun. Would I do it again? Possibly, if I was definitely completely alone. (So me not hiding from any close neighbours who might end up seeing through fences because that bothered me).
But that was not this experiment.
The shirt kept riding up from slight movements & choking me (or nearly) & my boobs just wanted to escape out the bottom. I’d run into something that normally would hit stomach level & I’d hit my boobs & that isn’t fun.
At the thirty minute mark, I couldn’t take it anymore & switched this tank top out for a different shirt. This one exactly, though obviously that is not me. But see how it’s flouncy up top & fake cinched at the waist? Yeah, kept ’em slightly corralled. This is how I lasted five more hours.
It also led down a path of self-worth. I’m reminded of a recent-ish shopping purchase at the dollar day at the thrift store. Perhaps this was a year ago? A little more? I wanted shorts. Apparently, I can’t wear shorts out in public. If they are “decent” they are three sizes too big. If they fit me, they ride up my ample thighs & show off all of my curves (& sometimes a little cheek). But still, I’m gonna wear my very short shorts around the house.
I purchased this blue pair. It was fine. They were even like yoga/running/workout shorts, so I wore them to yoga, when I usually wear fitted yoga type pants. You would have thought that my tree trunk elephantine legs would have been the issue here, but that wasn’t the case.
Sure, I really only see my legs from a certain angle. Sitting in a chair or lounging in bed. Gravity pulls my skin down, so my legs look nice & smooth. I have seen them in a full length mirror & know they are not like this at all when I’m standing. Do I still wear skirts above the knee or shorts? Yes, I do.
Besides I have King Henry VIII calves & broken blood vessels there, so I’m already showing off my calves & don’t care. I suppose I’m more use to those. That skin is tight, my calves are massive & they look the same whether I’m standing or lounging.
OK, so back to the shorts. We get into Downward Facing Dog & instead of seeing zebra print or grey, I see my legs, all wavy… jiggly… dimply… It was slightly shocking at first, in that it wasn’t a view that I see a lot, because when I’m in that position they are covered, but it quickly turned the fascination.
‘Holy hell, these are my legs. Look at ’em. They do this sway thing & are like tree bark or something (not rough, just the appearance… so very not smooth)…’ & then I remembered another position had been called so I had to stop examining my legs in a very scientific interested way (not a shock & horror “I’m so hideous” type of way).
Now, I had only quickly checked my look in our bathroom mirror before going to class. Make sure I don’t have food in my teeth or that my tits are in my bra or that my bra isn’t showing. Stuff like that. I get home & want to shower, so I’m back in the bathroom & standing in front of that mirror.
But I’m standing there staring at myself while taking my hair down. I’d worn a supportive bra under my yoga tank top. The kind that makes one rather flat chested. I can see where the shorts end, but I’m not seeing my legs, but I’m getting the full effect that these are navy blue shorts.
All of a sudden I was transported back to fifth grade. I’m eleven, with my little pre-teen boobs & navy shorts at that private Catholic school. I had a melt down. Not because my boobs weren’t all big & perky like in a real bra or because my legs were “hideous”. No, it’s because I’m actively taking my hair down from a pony tail & that with the bra are making me look like I’m eleven. The shorts looked just like the ones I had at that school.
Eleven was not a good age for me. It’s not that I thought I looked bad, it’s that this is what I looked like at eleven & things were not good for me emotionally. My adopted maternal grandmother was put in a home for a psych evaluation which my mother had to deal with & it drove my mother crazy, so things were rather scary at home.
Things were not good at that private school either as I was tormented on a daily basis. Yes, because of how I looked, but I remember being eleven & not thinking that I looked horrid, but was being told that I looked this way daily. It was slowly breaking my spirit, basically.
So, I had a melt down not because I felt I was ugly, but because I felt I was eleven again & people were constantly telling me I was lesser than. Go here & skip down to the one where girls are in a Catholic school girl uniform.
I’m sure one can see how I was made fun of, but I still liked myself as evidenced by all the fuckin’ sass I’m givin’ off in that photo, like I’m some super model. That jumper would come off during recess to reveal our navy shorts with our white shirts. And HELLO to those King Henry VIII calves! haha.
But getting back to that particular science experiment. While the floral shirt helped… I was having issues not just with my boobs being in the way, so to speak (mostly in the purple one), it was also the overall look if I’d catch myself in a mirror.
Now I know that my boobs aren’t perky & we all saw that earlier. If they are free & clear with no covering, I think they are pretty (though that took me a long time to get to, because I was told that my boobs weren’t pretty – by my mother or girls my age if quick changes were required & they were seen).
With covering I’m reminded of women I was told that I would grow up to be who I did not want to be. Basically the trashy, country woman who didn’t wear a bra. Mainly this woman who attended our church & my birth grandmother.
I’m not saying that southern country ladies are trashy. I’m not even talking about women who are skinny & live in trailers & don’t wear bra’s with their smallish boobs. (Like Joy from My Name Is Earl. She’s not gross…, though she might fit this description & not have high manners.) No, I’m talking heavy set heavy breasted women who either don’t wear a bra or wear some button in front loungy bra so their big boobs are down at their waist & they wear baby pink nightgowns & get their hair permed real tight. They seem slovenly & are slovenly. Sitting in recliner chairs like they are giant toads & belching.
Yes, that is oddly specific & there’s a reason. Mom was adopted by upstanding Yankees. People who had manners. Then she went & found her real birth mother. Now dad’s family is country. And all the women in his family are a little plump & some would get their hair done in curls, but they were cute as fucking buttons & had manners. They weren’t gross. Except for one.
So, mom’s birth mother is basically who I described above. As soon as mom met her she wouldn’t shut up about me looking exactly like her & how I’d grow up to look just like her. Prior to this, my mother was telling me I’d look like dad’s really gross aunt.
That’s basically from age six to age forty. It was also used as a prognostication or a punishment. “Sarah, I don’t think you should eat any pie. Do you want to end up looking like your Aunt Edna Dean?” (You would have thought it was my fourth slice. I just wanted one normal piece like everyone else…) or “Sarah, look at this picture of Agnes? You look just like her!!”
or “Sarah, you’re going to end up looking just like Shannon Ray’s daughters…”, which there was never any need for explanation or an added “don’t eat this or if you don’t work out, blahblahblah”. I already knew how she felt about them because she’d talk badly about them. This was her birth aunts granddaughters, as Shannon Ray was the birth aunts son, so mom’s real cousin?
No, they had really big butts & were overweight & were kind of gross on the inside, because of the shame they felt over how they looked.
I may have been poisoned into thinking I was gross & developing shame over it, but I never felt inside was these girls did. I was never that gross inside, with it oozing out. Was I constantly fighting it? Knowing I was better than that?
The big butt thing never really bothered me because I’d always had a big, bubble butt. Even at age four. So, the entire threat from older, female relatives of “When you have kids & you’re butt’s gonna widen.” wasn’t a horror story to me, unlike to my older sister, Lil’ Small, who tried everything to desperately stay skinny.
Boobs were an entirely different matter, as I wasn’t obviously born with those. Then they just show up like they do, but I’m not like the other girls who have teeny tiny new boobs which are mega perky. I’m the odd one out & there wasn’t a moment when people didn’t let you know that you didn’t fit in.
This probably wouldn’t have effected me has I been born to have their boobs (or even Lil’ Smalls’ – because even she was like, “I’ll never look like Agnes!” with full confidence, because there was no remotely similar aspect, so that wasn’t her horror story.)
But no, I got big boobs at puberty. I was a B/C cup when all these girls were barely A’s & mine would never be perky. So, this is when I started having hang-ups over my boobs & it just got worse from there.
I can say they’re fine & pretty & are what they are… now. I can even look back & realize that nothing was wrong with me then. But that took years. All I was seeing were pretty, busty women with perky tits (I didn’t really realize it was bras) or else troll women with my boobs. You have nothing to go on & you’re constantly being told you’re a troll basically.
Even seeing the topless very pretty lady in a porno mag with my exact tits & realizing that pretty women could have my boobs & all wasn’t lost, it still took time to come to terms with my own boobs.
Didn’t really help that my mother would tell me on loads of occasion that no one would ever love me & my boobs were one of those factors. I’m not even kidding.
Anyways, so I think, after this experiment, I do have issues still. With my non harnessed tits in a shirt making me feel like I’m some oozy old lady that I never wanted to be. I mean, yes, I still don’t like going braless because it’s physically uncomfortable for me because they do get in my way. But I’m realizing it’s more than that.
After a small melt down of being a horrible troll, I had to remember that that’s not really how I feel. Not anymore. I know I’m not anything like a troll. Hell, even when I’m “slovenly” in loungy clothes or eating chips in bed & having them fall into my cleavage & then getting them out. I’m more like sexy, slightly trashy lady… ya know, as opposed to the Royal Family, but I’m certainly not the creepy toad lady whose going to swallow you whole like a fly.
I’m me & not someone my mother felt I should or would be. I made my own decisions. I don’t feel shame over my body or think I’m gross. I have a large fat ass with dimples & I still think it’s pretty. My thighs have big broken veins running across them & don’t defy gravity & aren’t smooth & “perfect pretty” when I’m standing & I still think they look nice. My belly has stretch marks & have big defined fat rolls & I still think I’m pretty. My boobs will never be perky & will always want to escape & I still think they are pretty.
So, my mother was wrong. I remembered to love me, plus I have the love of the only man that could ever fucking matter. My +1. It would be funny if it wasn’t me, but apparently loads of men like the look of me while I’m walkin’ around in stores. Hitting on me. *rolls eyes*. I’m not sayin’ that’s love, far from it, but it certainly means I’m not fucking troll. Though I didn’t need them to tell me that. I told myself that first, then my +1 came along & loves me exactly as I am. Good enough for me, since our opinions are the only ones that fucking matter.
But back to the lady with the article. Perhaps she is where I was several years back. Not really putting two & two together about tits & bras. Sure I wasn’t seeing completely topless ladies, but I’d either see their bra strap showing or else it was boob tape magic? I just could only see a sea of women with gravity defying tits. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it, until I stopped thinking about it & obsessing over boobs (others & my own, (& realizing that my own were just fine). Not realizing that tits don’t belong at one’s clavicles (ya know, collar bones) & do hang no matter what size they are (because… ahem… gravity).
There is always sagging. Yes, one can tighten the pectoral muscles & raise your tits a little, but if you’re nipples point to extreme directions on the sides or point more down, there’s not really much you can do about that (without surgery & who the fuck needs that?! Ugh). Her boobs seemed fine. Like she wasn’t sorely lacking in the pectoral muscle department & her lamenting about the supreme sagging was societal conditioning & her lack of bodily awareness.
I think even if she did some bust moves, there’d be barely anything to notice in any type of upswing of how they sit on her chest. I could do the same. Up my pectoral game & they’re be a slight difference, but my tits will still hang how they’re gonna hang. Anyone really has the perkiest tits they’ll ever have right at puberty, right?
Contrary to popular belief, considering I’m forty three & have had big swings or weight gains & losses, besides the stretch marks on the sides, my boobs basically look EXACTLY as they did when they were first fully developed, when I was thirteen.
Age & weight fluctuations have only made them droop like what a half millimeter? (I don’t know, I’m bad at math). I mean there is the slightest of deflation (which I only notice in their slight lack of roundness in a bra – never braless in any position) & the slight sagging they’ve gained. The most noticeable difference are the stretch marks on the sides. Those weren’t there at all when I was thirteen.
And that’s only me scrutinizing for science because there’s all this talk about how one’s boobs at 43 are NOT the same as when one was 13.
So, I don’t know what boobs y’all were slapped with at thirteen, but I always just go into myself during these conversations because I don’t understand what y’all are talking about. I’m not judging (& I’m not ashamed, though I was in my teens & twenties), I just apparently didn’t get y’alls boobs. At all. I’m sure I got someone’s, like some of you out there got the same boobs as me, but y’all aren’t the ladies in a circle talking about it & your changes.
Long story short. Boobs are boobs. They’re all the same & different & bras make a difference, so don’t be fooled. I’m picky on boobs & don’t like the look of most of y’all that I’ve seen, (but that’s just because I’m not really sexually attracted to women in general & really only like my boobs & one’s that look like them). But apparently no matter how picky a straight male will talk, they just like boobs.
A hundred dollars. I bet if that man talking about how he’ll only go for the Amazonian blonde lady with gravity defying DD’s with tiny pink nipples that point straight out & legs for days & a barely there waist… if he sees boobs, any boobs, on any woman, & I mean completely naked boobs…
Yeah, I bet he’ll just stare happily & not run away yelling, “Oh she was hideous!” So, y’all’ve got nothin’ to worry about… if y’all were worryin’ over any little thing. But I’m also betting that if you rip that bra off you better be thinking you’re a million fuckin’ bucks & not thinking that you’re a hideous troll lady either. Own that shit if you’re gonna be flashin’ anyone.
Alien Tea Shoppe 