I hate wearing a bra. Ask any woman, especially those over 40. I can’t imagine any of them touting the comfort of wearing one. It’s like high heels. They just don’t feel that great.
I remember when I first started wearing a bra. I think I was about 12 or 13 and those little blossoms were just starting to bloom. I made the mistake of walking downstairs without a bra, to the amusement of one of my older brothers and a flock of his card-playing friends.
“Where’s your training bra?”
He said this in front of nine of his buddies, and from that point on, it became necessary to cover them up. I had to keep them high and perky, despite the fact that I was a tomboy, and bras held no interest for me.
Over the years I’ve had all types of bras — some with wires, a multitude of sports bras, push-up bras, strapless bras, black ones, beige ones, white ones and a few sexy colors as well.
But in high school and college, I rarely wore a bra at all, as that was the fashion of the day. Jogging was a bit painful, but I didn’t care. We were all wild and free back then, not shaving our armpits or legs, until fashion changed, and back into the bra I went.
Now, I wear one religiously every day. It’s fairly comfortable, without those painful wires that are built into most bras. But still, it’s a bra. I continue to wear it because I’d rather have my breasts look like they are on a teenager rather than looking like they are attached to my hips.
And those fashion magazines are happy about it as well. What would happen if all women suddenly stopped wearing bras? Would Victoria’s Secret go out of business?
So, although I wear a bra, I do have a fun daily ritual. At night, when I’m settling into watching a good movie in my sweatpants and slippers, I gradually unhinge myself. Down come the straps and the cups. I am free.
They flop around like fish in a barrel, but who cares?. I’m comfortable. Besides, it makes it easier to reach for candy or popcorn if those puppies aren’t in the way.
Guys, if you had to wear a bra, you would probably feel the same way. I’m sure a necktie makes you feel strangled, and a jockstrap? I can’t even imagine.
But for me, it’s the bra. The chastity belt of the chest.
— Mary McGrath
Mary McGrath writes from Los Angeles,and Naples, Florida. Her work has been featured in numerous publications, including Newsweek, The National Lampoon, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Purple Clover, Medium.com, Los Angeles Times and Good Housekeeping. Her motto: “Life is tough. You might as well laugh about it.”