A woman in Britain went from a 36A to a 36DD with the help of silicone prosthetics. She did this is a social experiment, kind of as a “what’s the big deal?” sort of mindset.
Toward the end, she says she can understand how having large breasts throughout your whole life would drive you crazy.
Lady, you don’t know the half of it.
I developed early…I was 9 when I first started getting “nubs”, I started having to wear a bra when I was 11, and by the time I was 13, I was shopping for a 36D. Do the math. In 8th grade, I had larger breasts than most of my teachers. I was about 5’6″, and weighed 140 (which is really skinny for me, because I have a large, heavy bone structure). Basically, my boobs were my defining feature, and much more so because I have red hair, so people are more inclined to stare at me, anyway.
In our culture, blonde is perceived as beautiful, particularly in adolescence. Tan skin? Even better – it’s preferred, conventionally, over freckles with pale skin.
I already felt like an ugly duckling because I wasn’t conventionally pretty, and then you add the big boobs – it was like that nightmare of arriving at school naked come to life, except with clothes. People stared, made rude remarks, guys actually threatened me with violence when I would tell them to please stop staring at my chest when they spoke to me (and when adults were informed of this, they treated me like I deserved it for having the audacity to develop so early…how dare I do such a thing!). And the girls were so much worse…you don’t know misery until you’ve had a gang of 13- and 14-year-old girls start calling you out in the locker room…I didn’t wear name-brand clothing, AND I didn’t look like the rest of them, so I might as well have been an alien. I stopped dressing out for gym, and would instead walk laps across the bleachers at the top of the gymnasium, accepting a “C” rather than having to deal with that horrible cattiness.
When I got to high school, I sprouted another inch, and gained 10 pounds in curves – it ALL developed on my hips, thighs, and yes, my boobs, rocketing me up to a size 12/14 in women’s sizes, and a size 36DD in bras. With a few variations in measurements, I’ve been much the same size ever since.
I was 14, and I had senior guys asking me out. One or two in particular were very interested in me, and I heard stories later, after those guys had graduated, that their goal was merely to get me in bed. I WAS 14 YEARS OLD. This greatly disturbed me.
As I’ve gotten older, my body has kind of evened out a bit, and while I’m slightly overweight, I’m well-proportioned. I neither look nor feel as big as I am, either in weight or in clothing size. The only thing that I notice constantly is the fact that my breasts always get in the way. They even get in the way when I’m sitting here typing, because they’re so heavy that I have to constantly focus on maintaining correct posture, or I find myself slumping down further and further until I’m practically bent in half, and my upper body is resting on my lap. It sounds funnier than it is. If I don’t watch it, I’ll develop a hump.
I found out a few months ago that I’ve been wearing the wrong bra size for years. I’m actually a 34G (that’s 34DDDD FYI). Because of my proportions, I don’t LOOK that big. But trust me…I feel it. I would give anything to get breast reduction surgery, if for nothing else than for my personal comfort.
Whenever I mention this in front of any male member of the human race, they act horrified, like I would be getting rid of the best thing in the world about myself. There’s no immediate consideration of the pain I’m in, or the fact that I’m tired of being defined by my boobs. To guys (yes, I’m making generalizations – you can just get over it), boobs are awesome. They are, in fact, the definition of awesome. They are what makes women so attractive and desirable. Sure, you can have a girlfriend/wife with smaller breasts and be perfectly happy, but admit it: when you see big bazooms, you can’t help but stare and be attracted to them.
And while I’ve used my boobs as a tool for getting what I want (usually in a bar, where it’s true that bartenders appreciate a low-cut shirt and careful eye makeup – I haven’t done this in a couple of years, though), 99% of the time, I could seriously do without the attention I get.
I’m not any more feminine because I have big boobs. I don’t feel any more inclined to wear dresses and skirts, makeup, and other conventional means of showing femininity (what a fucking awkward word THAT is). In fact, I prefer jeans and tee shirts, because they’re more likely to HIDE my “assets”, making me feel more like a person than a sex object. But I can see how the woman in the article might feel more sexy with the large breasts…and the reactions she got were a big part of that. But you take the bad with the good – the threats, the rudeness, and the discomfort. And we don’t all have the option of just stripping off a prosthetic at the end of the day.
And as an aside, to the author of the article: When you wear an outfit that showcases half of your fucking melons, do you expect any less than for people to ogle? They’re BOOBS, for fuck’s sake.