Oversharing about STUPID FUCKING BRAS.

23Jan10

God, I hate bras and shopping for bras, and finally finding one that works but not having enough money to buy up the store’s entire stock (which, when you’re my idiosyncratic shape, would still not be enough) so that you wear through the ones you have far faster than you’d like, and then when you go back to try to track down that one elusive type that worked, it’s disappeared without a trace into the Darwinian chaos of the marketplace.

I was wearing one today that works, kind-0f-almost-if-you-squint. It trades cleavage for comfort (where by ‘comfort’ I mean ‘the ability to raise one’s arms above her shoulders without dragging stiff, and frankly, totally worthless ‘support’ mechanisms over places where things SHOULD NEVER BE DRAGGED’) and– I mean, at that point, why not just go all the way and wear a corset? If I’m gonna be halfway incapacitated by my frickin’ underwear, why not get some benefit (i.e. a waist) out of it?

And no, I do not want to wear a sports bra. I’d like to work with what I have, thank you, not mummify it.

Yes, I’ve tried the internet. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and because I am not rich, I can’t afford all of those wonderful seamless pretty things made in England or Morocco or Sweden that actually FIT.

Man, the ones that are on their last legs: they were perfect. No stupid underwires, simple but not sports bras, in the standard suite of unobtrusive shades… They are, in a word, comfortable.

It pisses me off, that all the women’s underwear for sale at Target and Walmart and other humble retailers like that are solely designed to PUSH YOUR TITS UP. That’s all they do! And they all do it in horribly uncomfortable ways! In ways that guarantee that you won’t be able to lift your arms up without catastrophically dislodging yourself from the garment.

They’re all in hideously garish colors and patterns, too.

Who the fuck designs this stuff?

Oh, right: men!

Jesus Christ, people: BRAS ARE NOT ORNAMENTS.

God.

Anyway.

When I am wealthy and powerful (or at least, more wealthy than I am, now), I’ll just have the damned things custom-made.

They’ll be comfortable, and pretty, and do nice-enough things for my figure, and they’ll be fucking embroidered with whatever the hell I want, and they’ll be made of super-soft, beautiful fabrics.

In the meantime, I’m girding myself for resort to some combinations of ACE bandages and homemade, band-aid pasties.

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