Black, White, and Beige
September 12, 2002
written by tara e

it’s just not fair.

Girls, imagine this – you have a big date on Friday, and you think that there’s a good chance that you just might get laid. Days before the big night, you mentally pick through your underwear drawer. You think of that tried-and-true black bra, the one that’s about 3 years old, almost falling apart at the seams, and looks more gray than it does black. No. You think of every other bra that you own, all of which suddenly seem utterly unwearable, and you decide that it’s clearly time to go shopping. Now, any girl with a chest smaller than a D-cup would have almost no problem in this situation. They’d run to their nearest department store or specialty lingerie store and buy something seductive for their date, all at a fairly reasonable price.

For the rest of us, it’s just not so. Ever since my breasts outgrew a D-cup in the 10th grade, bra shopping has been a miserably traumatic experience. I’m more likely to find affordable housing than I am a bra that fits and looks sexy. When I walk into almost any store, if I’m able to find anything in my size at all, it’s bound to be ugly. It’s probably cone-shaped, has wide straps, is all-cotton, and designed to contain my breasts so that I couldn’t show off my cleavage if I tried. And I’ll inevitably have 3 color choices: black, white, or beige.

Society tells us that big breasts are sexy. The huge popularity of breast implants in the U.S. and stars like Pam Anderson and Dolly Parton should be proof enough. So, if this culture tells me that big breasts like mine are supposedly desirable, then why the hell wouldn’t they make attractive bras to fit them?

It just doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like there’s a shortage of us out there; in fact, there’s a huge market. And you know, I’m all for dismantling capitalism as much as the next revolutionary, but one thing I like about the free market economy is that it offers my spoiled ass so much choice. If I wanted vegetarian barbecued ribs for breakfast or to shop at a store that specializes in dish towels and garden hoses, I wouldn’t have much trouble finding them. If I demand it, someone will most likely sell it to me at a competitive price. With bras for us big-titted girls, it’s just not so.

Because we can rarely find bras that fit us properly, a number of things can happen. We either find specialty stores that charge us three times the price of an average bra, or we settle. And let me tell you, settling is not usually very pretty. In fact, it’s pretty damned unattractive. Ill-fitting bras on large breasts create a number of interesting phenomena, including:

The Double Breast. It’s probably the most frequent complaint us among us big-breasted women, especially with bras that cut across the chest a bit lower. Even if you try to tuck your breast into the bra, it’ll inevitably pop out of the top and create two weirdly shaped humps that just look strange in shirts or dresses. A variation on this phenomenon is the sideways-double breast, where the excess flesh bunches over the side of the bra and tries to hide under your armpit.

The Torpedo Tit. When we do find a bra that fits, it often gives the breasts a very 1950’s shape that is most-certainly not back in style, as is true with many other retro fashions. In fact, it looks like you’re carrying around tits that could poke someone’s eye out.

The Uniboob. Most common among sports-bra wearers, the uniboob is what happens when two large pieces of rotund flesh are mashed together under one piece of tight fabric. And did I mention the pools of sweat that collect between them as a result? It’s not so hot.

We’re not asking for much. Big-titted girls want the options of lace, sequins, satin, and color, just like the rest of you. We’re sick of looking like our grandmothers underneath our shirts, and we’re fed up with having to pay more for a nice bra than we would for a nice pair of jeans. We’re tired of settling for misshapen tits and we don’t want to have to dread sex because we’re afraid revealing a nightmare of cotton and fat straps to our dates. We want some fucking choice, goddammit!


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