3:35 pmHigh and Mighty
Disclaimer: For the handful of male readers known to frequent my blog, this post contains some sensitive, girly material. If the subject of bras makes you uncomfortable, skip me for now and come back tomorrow. If, however, you have always secretly wanted to know more on the subject of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders, then by all means, stick around. You may learn something.
I went bra shopping last week. Oy.
Let me first explain that there is a HUGE difference between “bra shopping” and “lingerie shopping”. Lingerie shopping is fun. You feel spunky and naughty and there is no real need to try anything on to see how things fit because you’ll only actually be wearing lingerie on your body for approximately 2-5 minutes, depending on how long the sexy dance lasts (or as the case is in my house: however long it takes your husband to turn off his video game). “Bra shopping” on the other hand, is a necessity. It requires measuring, multiple try ons, and all kinds of weird stretches in the changing rooms to make sure that the bra is going to be comfortable and stay where it needs to stay for long periods of time. Bra shopping isn’t very fun.
So one morning last week, while the kids were at survivor camp, I walked into Victoria’s Secret. I ONLY buy bras at Victoria’s Secret. I am a total bra snob. There are certain things that I will not buy “generic”: peanut butter, soda, and bras are the items that top the “name brand” list. (Jif, Coke, and V.S. are the brands, respectively.) People who have know me for a while know that I worked at Victoria’s Secret a decade or so ago. I was working there while Jon and I were dating, got married, and then for the entire duration of my first pregnancy. Let me just say that Victoria’s Secret is a great place to get an employee discount when you are a newly wed. However, Victoria’s Secret is the LAST place on earth that you want to work when you are 9 months pregnant (second-to-last maybe only to an actual strip club). Not to mention the whole “sexy” thing really goes out the window once you’ve seen bras and panties and teddies packed in bulk in huge cardboard boxes in a stock room. There’s nothing sexy about bulk. Let me also say, though, that when you smuggle from the dumpster a 3’ x 6’ poster of Victoria’s Secret models in bras, and give it to your husband to hang in his office, your husband’s male coworkers think that you are AWESOME! (What the hell was I thinking? I have no idea.) But I digress…
So when I walked into Victoria’s Secret last week, a girl dressed in all black pounced on me with a “Can I help you find anything today?” Normally when this question is posed to me, I give the old “I’m just looking” and they skulk off all dejected, knowing that they’re not going to make any money off of me. But last week I said, “Yeah, I need some bras”. I saw the dollar signs cha-ching in the girl’s pupils, because the average cost of a bra at Vicky’s is 45 bucks. So the girl—I believe her name was Becky or something—first offered to measure me. I said sure, because it’d been a while since my last measure and, as any woman will tell you, the girls tend to fluctuate. Now, if you have ever wondered the proper way to measure for a bra size, you’re in luck. I am trained in bra measuring and I’ll let you in on the technique. Before measuring, put on a comfortable (but not padded) bra. First, measure around your rib cage, just below the girls. The number you get there will be the “number” part of your measurement. Next, measure around the “fullest part” of the girls. Take that number and subtract the first (rib cage) number. Each inch in difference is a cup size. If the difference is one inch, it’s an A; if it’s a two inch difference, it’s a B, and so on. For instance: if I measure 34” around the rib cage, and then I measure around the girls and it comes out at a 36, my bra size will be a 34B. If my rib cage measurement is a 32 and the measurement around the girls is a 35, my bra size will be a 32C. Usually you will come in somewhere with “half inch” measurements… which is why you will actually have to TRY STUFF ON! I know. Sorry. I can’t fix everything for you!
So Becky (or whatever her name is) tells me my measurement (and no, I’m not posting it on my blog) and, sure enough, it’s different from last time. So I got into a changing room and try on a bunch of stuff, and hit the little button that calls her back, and I have her get a few other ones, and I try those on. I look in the mirror and I simulate getting a loaf of bread from a high shelf in the supermarket (yeah, very un-sexy, and very real-life) to see if any of them stay in place. Then I simulate vacuuming with one arm while I lift an imaginary chair with the other. Still good. Then I reach my arms way up high and stretch back and forth like I am picking bunches of bananas from high branches, because… well, you never know. And then I have to gauge the overall “look” of the bras. I mean, is everything sitting where it should be sitting? Because, if one is in the middle, and the other is situated somewhere around the armpit area, you have a bad fit. I finally pick three bras that more or less do what they need to do. I get them in cute, fashion colors to try to fake myself into thinking that bra shopping is fun and cute. But what I have just done is not fun… or cute, for anyone spying under the changing room door.
I’ve now had a week to get used to my new bras. They are quite comfortable, I’ll give them that. But the overall look—to me—is weird. The overall look is, well, shoved together and pressed up under my neck. I’m not used to defying gravity with such gusto. They seem very, umm, high. And, well, mighty. I paraded around in front of my husband last night shooting questions at him with tommy gun speed: “don’t they look a little squished? What about now? What about when I turn this way?” He kept saying they were “fine”. And not “fine”, like “oh baby, those are fiiiiiiiine”, but rather, “m’eh, they’re fine. Same as yesterday.” Which I suppose is the best I can ask for at this point in my life. But I spent upwards of $150 and now I’m walking around kind of self-conscious, feeling like I should be wearing heavier make-up and hooker boots. Maybe the material will relax a little in the wash and the push-up power will fade. Otherwise, I’ll just have to wait another year until my next Total-Bra-Overhaul at Victoria’s Secret. It’s no secret. Bras suck.
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Very funny! I was unaware of the ordeal that is bra shopping. Being usually less than an A cup, I hardly wear one. I just gotta make sure I don’t “look cold” at work, if you know what I mean. My “brick…..house” friends think I’m bragging, but I’m not! I wish I had something to put in a real bra.
Comment by kerri — August 6, 2007 @ 7:33 pm
I hate when the bra looks good at the store and then I get home and actually wear a shirt over it and I have cone boobs like in the 50’s or uni-boob. I just find bras I like and then buy the same ones when the old ones wear out, because I too hate bra shopping!
Comment by Sam — August 7, 2007 @ 6:02 am
I’m with Sam - I find that one bra that fits perfectly and buy it again and again. Of course, with my heft, there aren’t many options. They make few bras in size, “Holy Goodness Woman How Do You Even Stay Upright.”
And “I’m not used to defying gravity with such gusto,” totally made me snarf some pop out my nose.
P.S. I tagged you for a meme!
Comment by Leslie — August 7, 2007 @ 10:08 am