shanmonster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shanmonster) wrote2014-04-14 02:52 pm
shanmonster) wrote2014-04-14 02:52 pm
Entry tags:
My Two Cents' Worth on Training Bras
When I was in junior high, I was flat-chested. Other girls were wearing bras. Occasionally, other kids would come over to pretend they were going to snap my bra, and then they'd feign surprise that there was no bra to snap. I was mocked for my lack of a bra, and my lack of breasts.
I dreaded gym class, and getting changed. I wouldn't change in the changing area but in a bathroom stall, instead. Kids would pound on the stall doors, laughing at me. I didn't see the humour.
Eventually, my mother decided it was time I should get a bra. I was old enough. We went to a discount clothing shop somewhere and picked up a couple. One was white lace with a silly pink and green flower where my cleavage would be if I had any. The other was beige and unadorned. I was told I would need to wear these now, since I was getting grown up.
Obediently, I wore the accursed things. They were nothing but nuisances. I didn't see what purpose they served. Back in those days, I was horrified by breasts and bras. If a strap was showing at all, that was slovenly. If a blouse was sheer enough to show a hint of bra outline, that was trashy. And if a bra was textured and the texture pressed through a sweater, well, that was just gross. It was nothing more than an invitation for everyone and anyone to stare at that person's tits. And as for tailored tops which had darting for breasts? In my mind, that was obviously something only worn by harlots.
None of my shirts were sheer. I was already so ashamed of my body that I didn't wear anything like that. I had t-shirts and button-up shirts and a few thick acrylic sweaters. And now I had these horrible over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders to wear.
They didn't stay in place, of course. There was nothing to hold them in place. And so my days were spent surreptitiously hauling the elasticized torture garments out of my armpits and back down to my sternum.
The kids continued to mock me for not wearing a bra yet, and one day, one girl hauled my shirt up revealing the despicable garment. She laughed uproariously. "She's wearing a bra!" she said incredulously. She looked back at me. "Why are you wearing a bra when you don't even have tits?"
A new hell had been unleashed. On top of my regular abuse was this new one of having my shirt pulled up. The beige bra was the worst. It was given the name "pigskin" by the girls in my class.
When I finished junior high, and when I'd escaped the worst of the bullying girls, I ditched wearing bras full time. I still couldn't see the point of them. They did nothing but cause discomfort. I didn't tell Mom I wasn't wearing them, and she didn't ask. I still didn't have boobs, so they still wouldn't stay in place.
When I graduated high school, I was still as flat as a board, but I started wearing bras out of modesty. I'd taken a job as an activities counsellor at a park, and wore white t-shirts which would occasionally get soaked. I think that was the last time I wore bras on a regular basis.
I'm not exactly buxom now, but I only wear bras a couple of times a year. I still don't see the point in them, aside from making certain dressy blouses/dresses fit better. When I see articles on training bras for girls, I still can't help but wonder what exactly the training is for. Bras are not a necessary garment. Men with moobs don't wear 'em, and plenty of women around the world do without just fine (even the ones with big boobs). I don't think people should make their kids wear bras. Let it be their own choice.
I dreaded gym class, and getting changed. I wouldn't change in the changing area but in a bathroom stall, instead. Kids would pound on the stall doors, laughing at me. I didn't see the humour.
Eventually, my mother decided it was time I should get a bra. I was old enough. We went to a discount clothing shop somewhere and picked up a couple. One was white lace with a silly pink and green flower where my cleavage would be if I had any. The other was beige and unadorned. I was told I would need to wear these now, since I was getting grown up.
Obediently, I wore the accursed things. They were nothing but nuisances. I didn't see what purpose they served. Back in those days, I was horrified by breasts and bras. If a strap was showing at all, that was slovenly. If a blouse was sheer enough to show a hint of bra outline, that was trashy. And if a bra was textured and the texture pressed through a sweater, well, that was just gross. It was nothing more than an invitation for everyone and anyone to stare at that person's tits. And as for tailored tops which had darting for breasts? In my mind, that was obviously something only worn by harlots.
None of my shirts were sheer. I was already so ashamed of my body that I didn't wear anything like that. I had t-shirts and button-up shirts and a few thick acrylic sweaters. And now I had these horrible over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders to wear.
They didn't stay in place, of course. There was nothing to hold them in place. And so my days were spent surreptitiously hauling the elasticized torture garments out of my armpits and back down to my sternum.
The kids continued to mock me for not wearing a bra yet, and one day, one girl hauled my shirt up revealing the despicable garment. She laughed uproariously. "She's wearing a bra!" she said incredulously. She looked back at me. "Why are you wearing a bra when you don't even have tits?"
A new hell had been unleashed. On top of my regular abuse was this new one of having my shirt pulled up. The beige bra was the worst. It was given the name "pigskin" by the girls in my class.
When I finished junior high, and when I'd escaped the worst of the bullying girls, I ditched wearing bras full time. I still couldn't see the point of them. They did nothing but cause discomfort. I didn't tell Mom I wasn't wearing them, and she didn't ask. I still didn't have boobs, so they still wouldn't stay in place.
When I graduated high school, I was still as flat as a board, but I started wearing bras out of modesty. I'd taken a job as an activities counsellor at a park, and wore white t-shirts which would occasionally get soaked. I think that was the last time I wore bras on a regular basis.
I'm not exactly buxom now, but I only wear bras a couple of times a year. I still don't see the point in them, aside from making certain dressy blouses/dresses fit better. When I see articles on training bras for girls, I still can't help but wonder what exactly the training is for. Bras are not a necessary garment. Men with moobs don't wear 'em, and plenty of women around the world do without just fine (even the ones with big boobs). I don't think people should make their kids wear bras. Let it be their own choice.