A friend of mine told me about an informal poll on Facebook. Her buddy wanted to know the truth:
“What’s better at the end of the day, taking out your contact lenses, or taking off your bra!?”
No one said contact lenses. One of the women who answered even said, “I was hoping someone would answer lenses, so I could then ask her where she bought her bras.”
Alas, no such luck. It seems that all women are of the same mind on this one. Guys? You can’t relate unless you have constructed a little mesh bag for your privates (like the ones avocados come in?) that you put on everyday. One that itches, bites into your flesh, or flies apart at the most inopportune of moments. (My roommate once had her bra-wire fling itself out of her shirt during a concert. A fast thinker, she incorporated shoving it back in with a dance move). It is a fact: releasing the boulder holder is one of life’s small pleasures. Or, the best part of the day, because it means you don’t have to impress anybody/do anything more. It is the white flag, the throwing in the towel, the acknowledgment that the day is done. The sun sets, and its all over. Pa-ching! Yahoo! The girls are free to sweep the dust bunnies!
Someone tell me WHY we have to wear them. True, if you are jogging or working out you don’t want to give yourself or someone nearby a black eye. But If we’re honest, we do it because society tells us we have to. And there’s always some hope that someone will mistake your breasts for Barbie’s, a thought placed in your head early on by plastic dolls with huge knockers. Or if you are looking for a job at Hooters, yeah, you need a bra. The list goes on for why we should…sort of. I think they are all conventions we have bought into. Still…we’ve all run into someone on their way to the grocery store in their house pyjamas, swinging some pendulums around where we know they really shouldn’t be. Your gut reaction is HOLSTER THOSE THINGS LADY, YOU’RE GOING TO KNOCK A DISPLAY OVER. Am I right, or am I right?
Back in my college days I was prone to linking arms and marching with fellow women, backing causes we felt needed shouting about. In the paper one day I mulled over a woman who was arrested in the local park for sunbathing topless. Granted, it wasn’t France, and perhaps someone was offended, but what was the big deal? There were protests, and letters to the editor, and public opinion voiced over coffees and drinks. Right after it happened, right after too many drinks, this same roommate and I were talking about it, walking home late at night. I decided I needed to show this sister some solidarity!! Off went the shirt and the bra. This was a timid sort of protest, as I had unusually long hair at the time, and it was dark. I voiced my opinion about women and bras, and a tradition of bra-burning women, and any Feminist 101 rhetoric I could muster at the time…until my roommate said,
“Uh, there’s a bunch of guys over there on a work break…”
Sure enough, there was a posse of about ten men outside a local business, smoking and chatting. They stopped chatting when we went by. Did I voice my opinion then?
No.
I just kept my head up as high as I could, and pretended everything was normal, everythingisnormalherethankyou, and kept on walking.
It hit me then. I wasn’t protesting, I just needed to get my damn bra off and see what would happen. In this particular case, all that happened is I gave ten men something to talk about, or think about later, which didn’t sit very well with me. I have never protested the bra since.
Except some Sunday mornings at the local grocery store, where I expertly avoid all displays.