Last week, for the first time in my adult life, I spent seven days without a bra.
I’ve worn a bra every day since I was 13. I remember my first bra; a white cotton thing, more of an abbreviated tank top than an undergarment. At the time I had no breasts to speak of. I simply wanted a bra. I was adamant, I insisted on being bought that silly white thing.
Since then I have fleshed up, filled out. I will never claim that my breasts are spectacular; they are, in fact, overwhelmingly ordinary. They fall from my chest outward, small against the breadth of my shoulders and the generosity of my thighs.
My breasts are not high, nor are they perky. Rather, they are long, hanging from my chest in soft U-shaped drapes with the nipples almost directly downward. They fold over my ribs, giving me creases of soft flesh in the center of my chest, one a finger higher than the other. This gives my cleavage the impression of being slightly mismatched.
In size, my breasts are a soft handful, larger than apples, smaller than melons. Perhaps a grapefruit apiece. I straddle the no-where land between bra sizes, a B cup in some brands, a C in others. Their skin is ever so pale, gleaming with the iridescent rivulets of stretch marks. After a summer in bikinis and on nude beaches my breasts have gone from white-on-white to cream-on-pink. My nipples are only slightly darker, light pink with yellow undertones and a tight, tiny splash of rose in the center. I’ve seen nipples ranging in color from chocolaty brown spots to wounds of brilliant red. My nipples are not so dramatic.
The oddest thing about my breasts, which has kept me from plumping my cleavage high in corsets and convinced me to forever avoid demi-cup bras, are their distinctively large aureoles. It’s as though the aureoles continued to grow on, leaving my breasts behind, or as though I inherited my mother’s nipples but not the double-D breasts to balance them out. I’m not going to stick a ruler down my shirt at the moment, but at a quick glance I would estimate that my aureoles are each just under four inches in diameter. This used to embarrass me. Now it amuses me. These wide circles of puffy skin are just one of the quirks of my body I’ve grown enough to like.
I’m not particularly fond of my breasts. I have definitely run the gambit of issues, flaws, bits of myself I want to cover or poke at or cut off. My breasts are not an exception, with their teardrop shape and insistently large circles. But then, nor do they particularly trouble me. They are a sort of blank spot on my body’s radar, neither sculpted nor slack. My sexual wiring lingers in my nipples momentarily, and a hand will often stray to my breasts during masturbation, kneading softly. Having my nipples played with, sucked or licked, however, is usually a tease. Not teasing in a good way; teasing similar to a fly I want to swat.
I have never had any really good bras. I’ve owned a few nice ones, with bits of lace here and there. These are few and far between, however, and I’m usually content with a simple foam cup, an underwire , some skinny straps. The gentlemen in the audience may or may not appreciate how much good bras cost; I cannot drop $60 on a garment that no one actually sees. I don’t see bras as a lingerie item, and in scenes and sex they usually end up crumpled on the floor under my jeans.
I have always had a vague longing for the fruity dips and curves of high-placed, rounded cleavage. My sexual interest in women is often prey to a bit of breast fixation. That’s right; I’m a breast woman. Supposedly expensive bras can plump me, fill me, perk me and round me all at once, but I’ve yet to lay down money for the test drive and am content with my less-than-mythic decolletage.
Because I have a penchant for plunging button-down necklines my bras are often formed with great dips in the center, the cups sometimes held tenuously together by thin bits of string. This isn’t ideal for my breasts; in fact, I would say that my taste in clothing is in direct opposition to supportive, well shaped bras. I think one must have exceptionally high-placed breasts to comfortably wear a plunging V-shaped bra; my breasts are always wandering off in strange directions like unruly children.
And yet, although I’m clearly not on great terms with my bras, I continued to wear them. To not wear them had never occurred to me. Wearing a bra raises my breasts from their typical relaxed swing-low to a level that mimics the placement of a perky set. It shifts my nipples upward, low-beams turned to high-beams.
And then, with my breasts already sagging downward I lived with a tiny twist of terror in my stomach, the thought that someday my breasts would sag so low they’d end up level with my elbows. Characteristic of my imagination, they sagged down and down until I could imagine myself a white-haired hunchback with my breasts knocking at my knees. In a high-toned and perky culture my breasts can only hope to steadily decline.
I read an article last weekend questioning the myths surrounding bras. (Unfortunately while at work I cannot pull the link from the adult blog I found the article at. I will post it from a contained environment later this evening.) The prevention of the dreaded sag was front and center; the article argued that not only do we have zero proof that wearing a bra will prevent the breasts from sagging, but doing so for one’s entire life might encourage one’s breasts in a downward direction because the muscles of the chest wall never learn to support the breasts.
Huh, I thought. That actually makes quite a lot of sense.
I mean, what do we think happened to women’s breasts before we all started wearing bras? I doubt they grew significantly saggier. Yet there’s this image that unrestrained breasts will eventually drip down the chest like molasses and end up tangled in our feet.
The article then went into back pain, shoulder pain, bad fitting bras and the woes thereof. A ridiculously high percentage of the American population wear bras that are simply the wrong size. I’m guilty of this; my ideal bra size is hard to find. I also have chronic back pain; I carry a cramped muscle halfway down my spine that has not seen a relaxed moment since I was a freshman in college. I remain open to any back rub or suggestion that might unwind that damned Gordian knot.
Why am I wearing a bra every damn day of my life? Modesty? I admit that my experiment in bralessness had revealed that about half of my shirts are translucent in nature, but I am frankly not that kind of modest. Is the modesty to do with motion? Free from a bra my breasts wobble and shake. However, if wobbling and shaking are issues I might look into getting a girdle for my generous ass before casting aspersions elsewhere.
If not modesty, then I turn my eye to aesthetics. To perk or not to perk. Haul up the grapefruits on my chest a few inches and I’m that much closer to a beautiful woman.
Back pain and sagging tits. Bound flesh and conformed image. This is what bras might be doing for me? Adventurous spirit firmly in hand, I resolved to go a week without bras. I realize that in doing this I call up many feminist and social themes. That was not my intent; my intent was to survive with a minimum of madness.
Day one was irritating, as my nipples rubbed fabric with more attention than they’d had in weeks.
Day two the pain set in; my breasts were free-hanging, sore, and cranky.
Day three I struggled at my closet, trying to find something to cover the sheer revelation of aureole peeking through the white linen of my favorite shirt.
Day four in the morning hurt the most. My nipples throbbed, a tiny constant ache. By that afternoon they’d calmed a bit, but that day it was windy and frigid outside, and I remembered the warmth of that extra fabric layer with fondness.
Day five I almost threw in the towel; I put a synthetic, scratchy shirt on in the morning without thinking, and the irritation almost crippled me. That evening I changed to a low-necked sundress and self consciously kept glancing downward at my mismatched cleavage.
Day six was the first morning I pulled a shirt on without the odd sensation of missing a step. With a clinging tank top in place I felt both self conscious and sexy, the lines of my back uninterrupted for the first time in years. My nipples were insistently cold, as though my body couldn’t pump enough blood to their surface. They clamored for their cozy foamy cups.
Day seven I regretted my linen shirt again. I put myself in profile before my bedroom’s full length mirror and watched my breasts rise and fall with my breathing.
Without a bra my breasts are no longer a blank spot on my body’s radar. They shift, they move, they critique my shirt fabric and make themselves known. The discomfort of pinched underwire and shoulder straps fades to be replaced by sensitive tipped skin and the odd feeling of hard nipples all the time. It’s a curious mix and an uncertain trade-off; the discomfort I know compared with the discomfort I’m only just learning. The entire week I felt as though I was perched on the invisible edge of understanding something I couldn’t define.
The experiment ended this morning.
I am not wearing a bra today.
23 Comments
It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing.
fuck bra’s. Fuck them in the ear.
look for ’seamlesses’ at clothing stores. there are very tight fitting strappy undershirts, available in a variety of colors, usually made of synthetic fabric, with a high percentage of lycra. They work well at holding the breasts comfortably against the body, so they’re not swinging in the breeze to the point of discomfort. They can also camouflage nipples & hide some of the effects of those sudden cold breezes. They usually range between $10-20.
The can look very nice worn under something as a contract garment that peaks out of a low neckline, or layered under a transparent shirt.
I know that old navy, aeropostale, & the limited carry seamlesses. I think many clothing stores carry them these days.
I’ve been bra-less since 18 & for the first 6 years, I wore tank tops under most clothing. Tanks just didn’t do enough, especially in the nipple coverage area. & the wide straps didn’t go nicely under certain tops. Once I found seamlesses, I felt like my life was complete. Now I have more seamlesses than undies.
Braless is sexy. Bras have their place, particularly on very large breasted women, but I’m pretty sure that we humans are hard wired to be very attentive to the jiggling curves of breasts as they move.
When you say “I mean, what do we think happened to women’s breasts before we all started wearing bras? I doubt they grew significantly saggier.” I am reminded of every issue of National Geographic which shows women with breasts that you could mistake for knee caps. Unrestrained breasts do start to sag, but I wonder if it’s the other way around - the bra prevents noticing the sag once it sets in, rather than preventing the sag itself.
May-
Geek! Geeeek! Also, damn you’re cute. Are you calling my breasts smalll?
Wendy-
Funny, I don’t think bras are particularly fuckable.
Eavie Bee-
Thanks for the tip! I actually have a few seamless tank tops kicking around somewhere, but in all honesty they annoy me precisely because they’re tank tops and therefore cover my stomach. I don’t like the compression feeling of having lycra wrapped around my middle, and they also tend to roll upward to my natural waist. But I may have to look into them again is my bra-free days continue as a trend. Appreciated :).
BadMan-
Hey! Thanks for coming by. I can back you up on this one; I definitely notice the movement of women’s breasts. Especially when they breathe. Oh yes.
Hmm. You have a point on the sagginess. I don’t quite appreciate that the message I got when I was younger was that I needed to wear bras for prevention’s sake. I was also told not to sleep on my stomach because that would make my breasts sag too. I can’t believe the amount of misinformation I was fed about my body.
Should I decide, when I am old and grey, that my breasts are simply too saggy, then I’ll look into wearing bras every day again. But by then I feel as though I’ll have earned my right to sag, along with my right to dye my hair brilliant colors and get a wheelchair with a flame-throwing engine.
Eileen, I find that your posts go in so many directions that I often don’t know where to start once I’m finished. (This is a good thing - I like to “think all the way around a topic,” as a college professor once said I did in my papers.) And of course, I must comment, because that’s how my brain and my typing skills work. So, a few things:
aureole: I used to have similar aureola as you describe. I don’t think I thought much about them, although I regularly saw women’s breasts in the shower room at camp and was aware that they were larger than other’s. However, I had a breast reduction when I was 20, and now… I have no coloration around my nipple at all. I find this sad. Instead, I have a faint (although to me, it seems huge and obvious) scar where my aureole should end. It took a long time for me to take my bra off in public - for public bdsm play - because I worried about exposing my ‘frankenstein breasts’. I now take off my bra with no worries, but I still think about it when I’m with someone new. I guess we all have the bits and pieces we worry about.
“A ridiculously high percentage of the American population wear bras that are simply the wrong size.”
That’s partially because bra size is ridiculously inconsistent. Sure, in a shirt I can wear anything from a 12 to a 16 depending on the maker. But in bras, I can wear anything from a 36C to a 40F (or some made up thing like that). And that’s after the reduction.
One of the best things I ever did was buy an expensive bra. I went to Bra Tenders, one of those places where they literally look at you and determine your size. I’m not saying this is something you should do - just pointing out how different we all can be. I love wearing the two bras I bought there - they’re comfortable, shape me in all the right ways, keep my breasts high (i.e., away from the vicinity of my belly button).
Funny, I prefer bras - I like how it feels, and how I look in them and how my clothes look over them. I like to feel shaped and non-droopy. (I have no belief that my breasts will or won’t sag with bra-wearing. They already sag. That’s their shape.) And yet when I get home, it’s one of the first items I take off in order to get into relaxing, comfy, home clothes.
In the end, the truth is that I would never feel comfortable going without a bra with my large bra size. (I have trouble even opening the door to a food delivery guy at home if I’m not wearing one.) And it’s certainly not appropriate for work. For the scene, I really do see bras as lingerie - I often wear outfits that don’t require a bra, but when I wear one, I like it to be sexy (i.e., sheer, low cut, breast-plumping) and to match my underwear.
No, I was calling the issue of to bra or not to bra small, ala I mean, what do we think happened to women’s breasts before we all started wearing bras?. Bras are like vitamin water. You don’t need it even though you’re told you do, but sometimes you’ll buy it anyway because it can make you feel good.
and
Knowledge is power; misinformation is culture’s stranglehold.
Wake up, Neo.
My experience with not wearing bras (which I do occasionally when just hanging round the house) is that it means that when going up/downstairs, or going anywhere fast, I have to hang onto the damn things to stop them going all over the place and *hurting*. (mine are C cup so not particularly gigantic either.) Having said that - I’m not sure now how significant an issue that is. I wouldn’t go dancing without a bra (I’ve done it with a crap bra & that definitely hurt), but maybe I should reconsider whether I always need one…
Hmm! Thanks for an interesting post :)
Love it, its like listening to you rediscover a limb that’s been missing ;-)
I completely understand. And I love your comments, so it’s all good. We can think in circles together.
I’ll admit it, one of the reasons I dress the way I do in scene contexts (i.e. mostly in street clothes, or things that aren’t too revealing) is because I am self conscious about my body, and I’m not always comfortable with being nude. But on the other hand, my experience with nude beaches has belied that, and I’ll strip in front of my friends without a second thought. I do still worry about showing my breasts and my body to new partners. I realize this fear is largely unfounded, but that certainly doesn’t stop it from being persistent.
Another friend of mine recently did the same thing, and she just raves about her sexy new bra. I’ve considered doing this myself on more than one occasion, but it’s hard to justify. I’m definitely keeping the place in mind, though. I don’t think that my newfound willingness to go braless means I will never wear one again. I’m sure that’s not the case, in fact.
I’m the same way. I pretty much live in big, floppy sweaters, no bras, undies, maybe jeansif it’s cold. I actually like going out like this every once and a while, enjoying the luxury of just feeling warm and cozy and comfy while I get some coffee or check the mail.
Yes! Mine do this too. No way in hell I’m giving up my sports bras. I think I would really go mad.
As for day-to-day aches, I’m on day 9 without wearing one, and this is really the first day I’ve been totally ache free. It might just take some getting used to, and ideally I’d like to end up able to go with or without as I choose each morning, without needing to do too much adjustment. I’d say if you’re going to try some time without one, commit a bit of time to the experment or you might end up throwing in the towel. I really wanted to, right around day 4.
“I’ll admit it, one of the reasons I dress the way I do in scene contexts (i.e. mostly in street clothes, or things that aren’t too revealing) is because I am self conscious about my body, and I’m not always comfortable with being nude.”
Okay, then I’ll admit it too - if I had my choice, I’d probably go to scene events/parties in jeans, boots, and a nice-but-fitting-and-low-cut top. I’d be comfortable and sexy at the same time, and wouldn’t have to sit down just because my feet hurt in the heels I wear. However, such is the difference between you and I… when I go to these things, Jason determines what I wear. And the man is a tight top/very short skirt/fishnets/high heels fanatic. Every now and then I win a round when I get to wear the slightly more comfortable heels.
As for being nude in public, it’s not that I’m comfortable with it, it’s more that I choose to tune out the world when I scene and forget anyone is watching. (Blindfolds are very handy for this.) Noisy people talking near scenes are my enemy.
In thinking about it, perhaps the reason I take off my bra when I get home is because I don’t have to do anything else that evening. Because I’m certainly of the “have to hold them if I’m running around” variety. But maybe it’s a symbol that I’m home and all I have to do is read, watch tv, make phone calls or sit at my computer.
A couple years ago when I was coping with a nasty shoulder sunburn, I had to go braless for a few days. I covered my nipples with bandaids and, remembering how Carrie Fisher did this while filming Star Wars, I dubbed the experience “going Princess” as a take off of “going commando”.
Listen, if you can fuck a bicycle, and pavement (which apparently, people in england have done) then a bra is an easy thing to fuck.
I think Badman has it right about the sagging. Breasts change with age, and that’s OK. (Most of us never see older women who’ve nursed children naked, but it’s not just a National Geographic thing.) Bras are cosmetic, not preventative. I hate that there exist such myths about them! If I had known that my breasts would not become ugly without a bra, I would’ve been going without years earlier.
Personally, I fucking hate bras. I have small breasts without a whole lot of squish, so corralling them with underwires into perfect, uplifted mounds is a really damned uncomfortable process.
Of course exercise is a different story: you should wear a sports bra for activities that hurt your breasts when they’re free, like running.
I did a lot of hunting around before I stopped wearing bras everyday, and found maaaybe one study. Here’s an interesting website: Why breasts sag, and will bras prevent breasts from sagging?
Actually the only crappy thing for me about eschewing bras was the modesty issue. Because my nipples are so visible I have to dress differently, with a lot more coverage: vests, sweaters, button-downs over undershirts. It’s impossible for me in the summer, and I often break down and wear bras.
Calico, they make some pretty decent stick on bra cup things that work well for coverage, and aren’t terribly uncomfortable. My sister wears them with backless dresses, when she doesn’t put her fake boobs in. I find a decent tank top helps with the nipple modesty thing….but mostly, I just don’t care who sees my nipples.
I actually do the opposite - I’ve broken down and worn bras in the winter, for the extra layer of nipple warmth. They just get so cold…especially when they were pierced.
Calico, I am amazed you ever thought you needed a bra for support reasons. I mean, don’t take it personally, but your breasts are definitely small enough to support themselves. I can see how the pierced nipples would be an issue, though. I caved on wearing a white tank today because it was juuuust possible to see the outline of my nipples through it, but they are at least easy to hide in darker colors.
Thanks for the link; interesting site.
I need to invest in bandaids and black tanks, apparently. Wait, I have those things. Who’m I kidding?
I only mean support as in constraint. Maybe large breasts need complicated bras to leverage and lift, but all breasts need to be cinched down and prevented from jiggling and moving. Or so I was told when I developed them.
Wendy: Don’t stick-on bras, band-aids and nipple covers defeat the whole purpose of going braless.
Hey, I never said I wore ‘em. Just once, at the behest of my godmother (Who also once convinced me to use a hair removal product that was, esentially, fine grade sandpaper.
I like my tata’s to be free. *Thats* why I go braless. My tits don’t need to be constrained and bound up on a daily basis for no good reason. Will I wear a sports bra when I work out? Yeah. Will I wear a tank top for nipple warmth and to make ‘em slightly less visible? Sometimes, it depends on the shirt and where’s I’ll be.
Do any of this for modesty’s sake? Not so much. When my nipples were pierced, I was still braless. Shit, I paid for those things, I wanted everyone to see ‘em. :) But thats just my personal feelings, unrelated to why I go braless. I go braless because its uncomfortable, unnecessary, and in my opinion, it doesn’t do anything to help the breast.
Though, I do realize some women feel they need a bra/do need a bra. My little sister is G cup. She needs a bra just to keep her back from hurting so much, and to keep from whacking herself in the face with those puppies.
I feel like more than anything I avoided the damn things as a kid, but only just now am I feeling better about them. It really does make a difference if you find your exact size, but regardless they are just a pain sometimes. Congrats on making it through a whole week.
By the way, you are fully entitled to enjoy a back rub from me to work on that knot of yours if you like *^_~*
Fascinating coming to this post late and being able to read all the comments as well. You’ve provided a lot of food for thought…
Which is not to say that I won’t wear a bra to work tomorrow. But chances are that I’ll discard it the second I get home again!
xx Dee
I’d go with ‘cosmetic, not preventative’. Six years without and, ahem, I still pass the pencil test. (I think I’m a C cup but how the heck would I know for sure?)
I’ve recently had the opposite experience to you, Eileen - occasionally feeling like I have to wear a bra for an interview, digging out some ill-fitting teenage relic from the bottom of my knicker pile, and feeling constrained, badly dressed, irritated, uncomfy and generally like my clothes don’t comfortably fit over them. My wardrobe evolved to not rely on bras, so when I put one on, I’m terrified of stuff gaping or hanging oddly.
I don’t regard bras as lingerie; I regard them as sex toys, as a very light and easy form of bondage. There was a time when I did politicise that feeling, but not any more - now it’s just that they’re not part of my gender presentation, nothing more, so are free to be used as dressing up toys.
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