fashion / shopping

3 Reasons Why Bra Shopping Will Be The Death of Me

This morning something very, very sad happened to me. I had to say goodbye to my favorite bra; a simple, grey, very lightly padded t-shirt bra that worked with everything. V-neck shirt? Not a problem. Button-up? Per-fucking-fection.  Lacy something or other? This bra was such a light grey that it blended with just about everything. It’s really upsetting that it’s just worn out, done-zo, and trashbound. “Why don’t you just buy another of that same bra?” someone out there is thinking and I would, except for the fact that I bought the bra during my study abroad in Germany, and Dorothy, I’m not in Heidelberg anymore. Now I’m on the search for a new t-shirt bra and one neon colored bra option away from stabbing myself in the eye with my crossword pen.

 

Buying the wrong bra makes you look like a freak of nature.

If you have the wrong bra size, you face having either a uniboob or four smaller bulging breasts, a super attractive back-strap-bulge that makes you look larger than you are, irritated skin where the straps are digging into your shoulders, armpit boobs, and lumps and bumps where lumps and bumps shouldn’t be. An ill-fitting bra will make a any woman look like she is a stand-in for The Blob.

 

Buying bras in store lead to uncomfortable thought processes.

Buying bras in store is so awkward, especially when it’s specifically a lingerie store. If it’s Victoria’s Secret, you better bring pepper spray and your best bitchy face, because to get to anything in Victoria’s Secret, you’re going to have to wade through a gaggle of at least 20 middle school girls discovering their sexuality while dumping sample spray bottles of perfume all over themselves that mingle with their Axe wearing 9th grade boyfriends that napalm your senses within .03 seconds of walking into the store. You thought walking by Hollister smelled bad? You will wish you were caught within that clothing cave of terrible perfume with one whiff of this. Guaranteed. That’s not even the worst part, though. While the judgmental glares of those girls are annoying, the real task is ignoring them while you leaf through the lace goods without thinking of where the underwear has previously been and, more importantly, who they’ve been on.

 

Think about it.

 

Everything is a fucking pushup bra.

Know another reason why it’s impossible for someone like me, who has kind of small breasts? Everything that is my size is either rhinestoned and bedazzled into a righteous hell or it’s a pushup bra. Finding something that is cupped but not padded is like wading through the water of Chinese sweatshop lace and  bras that boast about adding two cup sizes to your bust. Now, I get it, some people love the look, and if they do good for them. It’s not for everyone, because not everyone strives to be a super sexy center of attention. I don’t care that they exist, I just wish that there were other options as readily available as the bras that thrust your breasts to your chin. Is that so much to ask?

 

Not all boobs are created equal, folks.

Not all boobs are created equal, folks.

Bra shopping has been a pain in the rear of every woman since bras were invented in the 19th century and bras used to be brassieres. You’d think we would have figured it out by now.

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