Disclaimer: If you’re a dude, you don’t need to read this. Unless of course you’re a dude with bewbs, which is an ever increasing possibility these days. In that case, welcome, my ‘in transition’ friend 🙂
This blog has been about 10 years in the making. It has involved countless hours of research, thousands of dollars, and more of Oprah’s ‘ugly cries’ than I feel comfortable mentioning. This blog, is about bewbs. Most importantly, this blog is about MY bewbs. Hopefully some of my experience and hard earned learnings over the past few years will help you with your own bewby questions, give you some “I’m not alone” comfort, or at the very least will make you understand why I’m so obsessed with bewbs.
NOTE: Ugly cry is pretty much what you would imagine. Lots of facial fluid, a red patchy nose, squinty puffy eyes, and a scared shitless boyfriend.
I GOT IT FROM MY MOMMA:
My mother gave me everything. I’m not just talking about life opportunities here… she literally asexually reproduced me. I have every health problem she has ever had, every unique little problem, and we are both pretty much the same individual… suffocatingly compassionate people pleasers who worry too much and have massive bewbs.
Wait, what?
Yes. My mother gave me the family inheritance. A tiny ribcage and massive bewbs. Every little girls dream, right? Not so correct, little birds. Massive bewbies and a little ribcage is a terrible terrible thing. Not only because it would characterize me as “FLBP” (check out thechive.com… best site on the web, probably…), but also because it means that clothes never fit, I look larger than I really am, and because bras that fit properly, when found, sell for $100 a pop. It’s not all bad though, I got to get away with some pretty scary ‘no makeup days’ (who’s looking up there anyways), and I was forced to learn all about sewing!
A, B, C, as easy as… E=MC2
Let me tell you a little something about your bra. You’re wearing the wrong size, I guaranee it. But it goes deeper than that, much much deeper. You’re not only wearing the wrong size… but there is no RIGHT SIZE. *insert earth shattering noise here* What I learned from my hayday as a bra hunter, was that ‘my size’ was, depending on what I ate that day, roughly a 30H. When I went into a non-speciality store (aka La Senza) and told the ohsohelpful counter lady that I was looking for a 30H, they would usually scoff and say “good luck”, or scoff and say “no honey, you’re not that big”. In part they were right, because H sounds like an awfully huge cup size, right? Who could ever be that big, RIGHT? Well they were wrong, and here’s why…
When bra makers make bras, they do so in an silly way, with no concept of the changing human body (aka tiny girls getting giant implants). For every inch that the band descreases, the cup also shrinks. You would think that all A’s are A’s, and all B’s are B’s, and so forth. But when comparing these cups, you’ll notice that the larger the band size goes, the larger the cup gets as well (more on that later). This makes it incredibly challening for tiny ribcagers like me to find a decent sized cup, hence having to work my way into the latter part of the alphabet to get some decent boulder holders. These ‘special’ bras almost always looked like something you couldn’t imagine anyone buying unless they specifically wanted to repulse men. It’s as if they were engineered to be a structural fortress. The straps were ungodly… the thickness covered much of my shoulder so forget wearing tank tops, JUST FORGET IT. Sometimes they tried to make them sexy, by throwing on a bow or attaching some lace on the front. But thats like trying to put lipstick on a hippo… or snooki. It’s fooling nobody. I’m not going to even get INTO the cost of these monstrosities… Okay, I’m going to get into it alright.
$93 for:
-foam
-wire
-thread
-stretchy fabric
-shitty lace
-clasp
-zig zag stitching (for reals? your factory doesn’t even have a special machine that produces a good quality stretch stitch?)
-a label that says 30H
A Strange Case of The Incredible Shrinking Bewbs
After going through the four stages of kimmy greif (denial, ugly crying, ugly crying stage 2, and booking a breast reduction surgery) I came to terms with my predicament, aka: I forced it to fit my will and decided the BEWBS HAD TO GO.
Uncharacteristically, I also decided that my health mattered and went to the gym. Oddly enough, it turns out that when I work out, my bewbs shrink. So I conitnued to work out, and my bewbies continued to shrink! The clouds parted, angels sang and the sun shone down on my incredibly tiny bewbies in my all-too-large, all-too-expensive boulder holders. Having no real support, knowledge of when my bewbs would settle on a size, nor psychological stamina to go through the “find your bra size” turmoil again, I decided to buy an AHH-BRA. You know those infomercials that sell a stretchy sports bra for exuberant amounts of money that everyone laughs at? Yah, I bought one of those. It worked in the meantime, but what I learned was that I really needed to replenish my bra collection. This time, a ‘normal’ bra size, in ‘normal’ bra shapes and colours, with… my one true dream come true… a ‘normal’ bra with skinny straps. *gasp*
I went searching and was still a 30F. The F represented so many things to me at that point. I gave up hope of all of my ‘normal’ bra dreams and went home, braless.
Sewing Saves the Day!
I still had my heart set on a pretty bra, despite not being in the pretty bra category (yet)! I went to wal-mart, where I knew I could find a variety of pretty bras for uber cheap– primarily ones I wouldn’t mind ripping up, reverse engineering (I’m THAT smart) and putting back together with less fabric where it wasn’t needed. Guess what I found in my journeys? I found that I was actually really well suited to a 38C, minus 8 inches (DOABLE!). I was also well suited to 34 DD’s, 36D’s, and even some 40B cups… all with varying amounts of fabric needing to be removed from the back strap. I can’t tell you why bras are made this way, all I can tell you is if you are having trouble navigating the world of bras, are limited by money and perhaps in a geographical area without a lot of selection, go to whatever store you can find and TRY THEM ALL. Find something that covers your bewb, and rip, cut, pin, baste and stretch stitch your way into a new bewbie revolution… welcome to Kimmy’s era of “the no size bra”.
That’s not too grandiose… right?
For my seamstress friends, an implication:
Many new patterns now offer adjustable cup sizes. This has been a wonderful, amazing, best day ever kinda discovery for many out there not wanting to attempt their own FBA or SBA on a pattern. But knowing what I have learned about bras, and that sometimes a C is really a B, or a D, or an FGHIJ, then what are these companies really going by when saying that “this pattern can be made into any of the following letter sizes”? What does it mean to pick up a size 10 pattern, and make it in a D cup size? I can tell you what it means, it means DISASTER. I tried it most recently on a birthday dress for myself, and there I was, with a bountiful ‘F’ cup, and absolutely too much room (WAY too much room) in the front of a size 10 altered for a ‘D’ cup size. I suggest that those of you willing to try these patterns for the first time, follow what I consider to be the first rule in sewing, and make a muslin. You might be shocked to find that your B sized bewbies are really much larger (or smaller) in the pattern world.
Anywhooo, what I’m really getting at, is that it seems like someone, somewhere along the way, made a decision to create a system of sizing for bewbies, and forgot to build the system to account for the person. And after all of these years, even the pattern companies have decided to still follow this bass ackwards formula for how big our bewbs are.
That being said, there really could be a method to all of this madness. And there probably is. Unfortuantely I’ve never figured it the hell out and my new theory works: a) good for me, b) better than NUTHIN’. So please, if you DO have the answers… its about 10 years too late and I like thinking that I’ve figured out a mystery (and being right), so please, keep it to yourself you big gloater.