Blogmas: Bramas

So I know it’s the season of giving and all that, but I bought myself a present: new bras! I was really flat chested for a long time, then I put on a lot of weight, and the only thing good about that was finally having big squishy boobies. When I got back down to fighting weight this summer, I just didn’t know what to do with the old funbags. I knew I wasn’t still the “Almost A” that I was in high school, but the bras I’d gotten at the top of my weight were comically large and made me look like I was purposely wearing a shit ton of padding. I had (an still have) no interest in getting measured by some stranger in an underwear shop. Seriously, one time when I was at my heaviest I went to get new bras at like a Hanes Outlet or something, and the woman who worked there would just NOT LEAVE ME ALONE. Constant knocking on the fitting room door, checking on me while I searched the racks, asking if I wanted to be measured. Listen, lady, if I want your yellowed fingernails cupping my tatas, I’ll fucking tell you, but for now keep that measuring tape slathered in gods know how many other reluctant women’s  boob sweat far from me.

So I scoured the internet til I happened upon A Bra That Fits, and I followed those guidelines. I was shocked (SHOCKED I SAY) to read I was a 30DD. No way! Double Ds are like huge ole knockers, porn star titties, and I feel like I’m only just barely sexually dimorphic from a 13 year old boy. But I trusted the internet, as you do, and I ordered one from three different brands for a whopping $107 American. That. Is. A. Lot.

Shockingly, or not, a 30 inch band is just way too tight for me. I don’t really have much fat around my chest, but I do have, uh, what are they called? Oh, right, RIBS BONES. So I sent them back to Amazon and got my complete refund because Amazon is a boss ass bitch, and I ordered 32Ds from the same brands.

Shockingly, or not, my total was only $57 for the same thing but different sizes. Because women’s clothing is a fucking joke, and using less fabric costs more, I guess.

So why 32D and not 32DD? That’s the secret, you guys, the bra code is not at all what you think, or at least, not what I thought. A, B, C, D, DD, and so on (and there are a LOT of so ons…) are cup volumes, and the numbers are band sizes. Easy enough, right? And if the bands are numbered in inches and always the same, cups must always be the same too, right? WRONG. A 32C’s cup is not the same as a 34C’s cup which is not the same as a 36C’s cup. When the bands get bigger, the cups get smaller. So for every band size change going up in number, you must also change the cup going down, and vice versa. These are called sister sizes and they work like this:

30DD = 32D = 34C = 36B = 38A

Even though it’s a little bit complicated, it actually makes a lot of sense and totally negates my claim that women’s clothing is a fucking joke (but only bras are the exception).

So I got the 32Ds and they’re actually pretty nice. One has a cup gaping issue but I think that is due to the brand (everything I’ve read warns you that brand to brand you will find lots of differences, so I guess I’m back to women’s clothing be a fucking joke). Another’s band feels too tight still, so that might be going back, but I’m trying to break it in instead (another suggestion from the internet). And the third is pretty much perfect. I’ve found the goldilocks of bras. So while the suggested fit I got wasn’t totally spot on, it was pretty damn close, and I learned a hell of a lot about bras. If you wear a bra, you need to know these things too! So, merry Christmas, bra-wearers! Here’s your info!

Advertisements

Also I Hate The Word “Fleek”

Some people have really strong feelings about things that they really shouldn’t. Like, some people HATE pumpkin spice as if pumpkin spice personally hurt them. Like pumpkin spice broke up with them via text message. Like pumpkin spice punched their mom in the face. Like pumpkin spice used the key they gave it “for emergencies only” while they were on vacation and had a gang bang with strawberry acai and white chocolate mocha in their marital bed. But the truth is, pumpkin spice never did anything to anybody, and while the kind of hate pumpkin spice (or any “basic bitch” bullshit) gets is way too complicated for this blog post, it’s a great example of something that doesn’t deserve the treatment it gets, and I need you to know this post is self aware. I’m about to say something, and you’re going to think I’m a huge hypocrite, but bear with me, I’ll explain.

I. Hate. Eyebrows.

I hate those thick fucking, fake-ass, perfectly square, stamped-on-looking, woolly bear bitches the most–if you’ve been on the internet, you know the ones: Instagram brows. Now, like I said, this post is self aware. I should NOT hate eyebrows, and even more so I shouldn’t hate painstakingly cultivated ones. Eyebrows didn’t kill my father. They didn’t kick my cat. Eyebrows didn’t vote for Donald Trump. Eyebrows are honestly one of the least possibly offensive things. And yet…

Eyebrows, or rather, what they have become, offend me to my very core, and it’s mostly for this simple fact: the same people who made fun of a naturally thick-browed, ten year old me are the ones instagramming and praising these mile-high, drawn-on abominations.

Eyebrowminations.

Here’s the thing: I don’t give a shit what people do with their own bodies. Yes, I would encourage you to be healthy, but if you choose to fill yourself with crap then so be it. If you choose to tattoo a portrait of Dolly Parton on your left temple then by god, you do you–you could honestly have chosen much worse. Pierce your butthole closed for all I care. What I hate about the current brow trend is not really that it exists, but that it’s so insincere.

And not in the way that most fashion is insincere. Sure, people follow trends because they’re cool, but I’d reckon there are more than a handful of people who actually like how certain trends look, or at least grow to like them. My mom fondly looks back at her Farrah Fawcett feathered hair and would most definitely still have it if she hadn’t succumbed to peer pressure a mere four years ago. But the thing with this eyebrow debacle (debrowcle) is that no one really likes thick brows, they just like painting really wide, tapered, arching lines on their foreheads.

Yes, I am salty. Salty AF, some might say, because this girl has gone through hell and back to minimize her own brows at the behest of society. I have shaved, waxed, plucked, and threaded these little furry assholes into shape for years because I am weak and care way too much what people think of me. And you’re telling me I just could have waited it out til 2015? No, I couldn’t have, because what I got going on, which are actual, real life, thick brows, are not at all what’s being touted all over Youtube as a “natural brow look.”

I blew up at one of my best friends back when I was 20 or so. She had these gorgeous, delicate, wonderfully shaped brows that were so effortless. At least, that’s how I saw them; I am sure she, like most people, has a very different view of her own body. Regardless, if I could have replaced my own brows with replicas of hers, I would have done so in an instant and never touched them again. She texted me one day, very excited, to say she’d had her brows waxed. I should have been excited for her, supportive, asked questions about the process, anything but what I did which was basically berate her. If her brows weren’t good enough, then mine would never be. Besides a whole boatload of other shit I was going through at the time that no doubt contributed to my fuckery, I was too filled with self loathing to support my friend, and told her that her decision was dumb. Eyebrows made me selfish, and that’s one of the worst things you can be.

And this was before the big box brow trend even started!

So yes, I’m salty about the whole thing and I’ve grown to just loathe eyebrows. I hate the effort that has to be put into them, I hate that that effort is so incredibly painful, and I hate how shitty they make me feel about myself.

But I shouldn’t hate eyebrows. They serve a purpose. I was going to make this a Thing I Don’t Fucking Understand, but I actually do understand them. I get the totally fucked up desire to want to be pretty and doing the dumbest possible things to get that way, but I’m never going to stop hating eyebrows. Maybe someday I’ll shave them off completely. That might even be a trend on the horizon. And I’ll probably be salty about that.

But for now all I can saw is this, all of this nonsense, is browdiculous!