I read two great articles today over at Literally, Darling. One was about large breasts and the other was about small breasts. Both talk about the difficulties of each situation. In reading both, hopefully each of us who is thinking the grass is greener next door can take a moment to appreciate how green our own grass is and stop wishing for something we don’t have.
Please let me know what you think of the subject and if you are interested in writing a post for our “Love Your Breasts” series, I’d love to hear from you. Whatever your unique point of view is regarding breasts, your story will inevitably resonate with someone and help them. Looking forward to hearing from you!
Here are the articles:
…puberty kind of never really happened. The evidence is on my chest. You see, unlike my darling co-writersKatie and Kirstie, I have never had big-boob problems. In fact, I’ve never had boob problems at all… because I don’t have any….
……..My more well-endowed friends tell me I’m lucky because I have a wardrobe full of wispy, barely-there blouses which I can ‘get away with’ because I don’t have to consider how I may or may not look like I’m advertising. My argument is, quite simply, that having nothing to advertise isn’t a lot of fun. All the men who’ve had, shall we say,interactions with my boobs have hardly been thrilled by them, and any attention directed their way is more out of politeness than genuine desire. Yes, it’s nice to wander around town with a big shirt and no bra on, but come on—it barely takes two seconds to clip a bra on in the mornings, and the small thrill of feeling a little freer is a pretty cheap substitute for feeling like a woman.
If you’ve got C-cup or larger-sized breasts, chances are it feels like you permanently have a toddler attached to your body, and like most demanding children, they dominate your whole life. Oh yeah, you can fill out a sweater like it’s nobody’s business, and you certainly get male eyes on you, but with your giant ta-tas comes a life of watching your boobs pop out of bras, shirts, and dresses like they’re rampaging bulls on the streets of Pamplona.
….Fast forward through middle school and high school, where many of the less-endowed girls were all glaring daggers at you and often not-so-quietly calling you slutty and dumb behind your back, because you know, there’s apparently a complex algorithm in which the bigger cup size correlates directly to the amount you spread your legs and your level of intelligence. Or so it seemed. Meanwhile, we’re left trying to figure out how to find prom dresses that don’t make us look like porn stars, button-downs that don’t pop buttons so fast they take your eye out, and attempting to get guys to look above your chin when they talk to you.
Can you relate? Let’s hear from you in the comments below. Or maybe on Twitter, Facebook or Google+.
And if you’d like to write your own article for this series, send me an email with your ideas!