I have turned my back on bras for good.
I have found my happy place in what I've dubbed perma-sports bra heaven. No more adjustments, no more weird double boob or side boob or back flab - it's glorious. Of course, it's possible that being the proud owner of boobs so tiny as to be virtually concave I have the luxury of being able to turn my back on the conventional bra. I've arrived at this happy place of lycra crop tops after years spent tolerating the war of discomfort that the bra has waged on my torso. Of course, occasionally sartorial choices demand I put a bra back on and on these days all that yanking and adjusting and snapping comes hurtling back to me.
8 Stages of Getting Your Bra the Hell Off After a Long Day:
Stage 1 – Put on bra
Commence rueing the day that you allowed this instrument of torture into your life.
Stage 2 – Make frequent weird adjustments
That thing where you nudge the cups back down by employing what looks like an elbow shrug needs to happen about 82 times a day.
Stage 3 – Notice that the bra is causing an unsightly phenomenon called back-flab overhang
Moan to anyone that'll listen about the impossible quest for a comfortable bra. Listen to at least three detailed anecdotes about how "it turned out I've been wearing the wrong bra size for eight years".
Stage 4 – Start to fantasize about incinerating the bra
"If that bra strap slips of my shoulder one more GODDAMN time I'm gonna rip you off and burn you on a pyre while chanting and dancing naked in the light of the sacrificial flames," you hiss at the bra while adjusting the slipping strap for the 864th time today. Notice that your muttered threats are attracting the attention of male colleagues in the vicinity. Cease to care – they can't conceive of the irritation you are experiencing. The women barely glance up as they are too mired in their own personal bra-woes.
Stage 5 – Wonder if it's a bad sign that this is your favourite bra?
Of the approximately 18 bras you own in various colours, styles and sizes the current minion of satan (that manages to be both too loose on the straps and yet too tight on the cups causing a strange four boob affect) is, in fact, the best of the bunch. It's the one you wear 234 days of the year (yes it's worn out, is now a colour we refer to as once-white and looks like it has survived some mild atrocity). It's the one you hate washing because it means wearing one of the even more annoying alternatives.
Stage 6 – Slump into your chair defeated and notice this position is even more uncomfortable – there is no alternative when wearing a bra, one must remain poker straight and upright at all times
Seriously ever lie down sideways on the couch when wearing a bra? It's like trying to relax with a lobster strapped to your chest. This must be some devious plot by the patriarchy to keep us prim and proper and subservient. That or the fecking thing is cutting off blood flow to the brain at this stage.
Stage 7 – Just half an hour to go till I can get home and rip this hell-garment from my body
Bah friendly co-worker wants to do a stop and chat on the way out. At this point (hour 10 of bra-mageddon) everything – work, family, friends, socialising – EVERYTHING is a pesky obstacle between me and the sweet release of bra-removal.
Stage 8 – At last sweet baby Jebus that hell-harness is gone, praise Allah
Until – "NOOOOOOOOOO!"– flatmate's friends are coming over. The devastation is total upon realising that you either have to endure awkward nipple staring/avoidance or PUT THE BRA BACK ON.
