Underwired

Here's one for freedom, girls. (Smirk.)

Tonight, I shall deal with brassieres. Yes, brassieres. And a woman's need to be free and, ehem, upright at the same time.

Just last week (dawn, if I remember correctly) Maia, my bestfriend of ten years, and I were on the phone in one of our major gabbing sprees. For some reason, we usually start talking at around 3am. Therefore the mood is always mildly set with too much coffee and cigarettes. About two years ago, we started dubbing these talks "The Nasty Hour." She would be Ate Luds and I would be, well, me. Suffice it to say she would be the guru and I would be the innocent. All topics are welcome, usually discussed in a nasty matter, or, if we were being particularly vindictive we end up being nasty to each other. Such was the case the last time we talked.

After a run of certain heavy topics (politics, the economy, work problems), we settled for the more mundane ones. From fashion trends, to ridiculously-priced shoes to, ho-hum, brassieres. "Have you had an Inquisition yet?" she asked. An Inquisition is what we call sorting out very old underwear and throwing out the really scruffy and shamefully weather-beaten ones. "Nope," I answered. "It's been only a few months since my last Inquisition, and I've recently just bought new ones. Incluuuuding bras." This last sentence I said in a smug tone. Quality bras, after all, were quite expensive. "Oh really," Maia scoffed. "You mean your underwire thingies? Those are torture devices, my dear, not bras."

What commenced afterwards was the usual debate of whether to go for comfort or aesthetics. I accused her of accusing me of being too girly and she accused me of submitting to society's standards of good breasts. "Is this another lesbian thing?" I wheedled. (She is, after all, a lesbian) "No it is not!" she harrumphed. "It's one thing to wear those torture things when there's an occasion so that you can have nice, socially-acceptable, perky breasts. It's another to wear those everyday and not even admit to yourself that they're uncomfortable!" At which point my mother knocked on the door to tell me to quit yelling and try to get some sleep. We hastily said our goodbyes and hung up.

I met up with Maia in Greenbelt 3 yesterday. We spent the day gallivanting around, visting bookstores, eating greasy, barbecued, unhealthy food, and drinking lots of coffee. We always made it a point to spend at least one day of the month like this, as our usually pressured work lifestyles can drive anyone up the wall. And so we spent our last hour in the mall walking about, trying to burn off all the greasy food we consumed. Then we took a cab home, more specifically, to her house. We were both pooped out and tired. "What a day! What an extremely tiring day!" she proclaimed dramatically as she flung herself inside her room and plopped over the bed. As with most women, she automatically reached behind her back, unhooked her bra, pulled, and with a theatrical yell of "Women of the world, unite!" sent it swishing through the air. I did the same, only more quietly. As relief registered in my upper body after having been constricted for more than half a day, I had to admit that bras alone can be uncomfortable enough, not even with the added poke and discomfort of underwire ones.

And why am I talking about this? Because I can. And because I should. As well as other women. And men who only notice the beauty of a woman with pushed-up breasts and not her discomfort. And teens who start wearing teeny-weeny underwired bras as soon as they hit thirteen.

This is not to say I won't wear those anymore. But I WILL ease up on the habit and be gentler with my body. I'm in my mid-twenties and might be approaching my thirties in the future, but the concept of breasts and the gravitational force will not get me down.

I looked at the mirror. My body, my choice. "Mai, you got a spare bra there for me tomorrow?" I asked innocently. She turned her head so fast I heard it crick. "Of course," she assured. "I just hope it fits you. I've got bigger boobs you know." she snickered.