My social consciousness came of age
in the late sixties, early seventies
with Women’s Lib and Burn the Bra.
Though my adolescence started in 1961.
Through pressure in the locker room
and at spin-the-bottle parties,
I saw no choice except to conform.
To get a bra as soon as possible.
My mother was skeptical.
In contrast to me, she
was a large, big boned woman.
Wearing a heavy-duty girdle
as well as a deep cupped, wide,
underwire brassiere (the term she
always used).
She wore lingerie during the day,
looking forward to tossing it off at night.
Donning a velour housecoat,
grumbling she could finally breathe.
Her own distaste for undergarments,
leaving painful looking red depressions in her skin, did not deter me.
I knew that my mother was considered sexy by her circle of close friends.
Why else would they give her a cork
as a gag gift after bearing three children?
Of course, I snooped in her dresser drawers,
poking for anything of interest to a girl about to get fitted for a bra.
That’s when I came across that cork,
and the accompanying note telling her to use it.
I’m sure she didn’t pay a whit of attention as she soon became pregnant with my youngest sister.
After much begging, I convinced her to take me to a proper ladies’ intimate apparel shop.
I left the store triumphant, holding a bag, with two lightly padded bras, each size 28 AAA.
I wore both for years, handwashing the twin on alternate days.
Believing they increased my sex appeal, desirability.
That belief panned out a few years later when,
to cop a feel, a boy first had to figure out
how to unhook the bra.
It was a test of dexterity, and I vowed never to assist.
By the time women began to scream Burn the Bra, I had no intention of removing mine.
I had become a stable 34 B, and my amorous
adventures were just beginning.
But with a first pregnancy, my breasts
changed, increased in size,
swelling with new milk glands.
I was thrilled with this unexpected development, thinking it made me voluptuous.
Immediately, I bought pregnancy bras
to support added weight, expanded contour, new buxomness.
I was more than a little embarrassed, and
somewhat annoyed, when the obstetrician
told me at visits to take off my gadget.
As though I didn’t need it.
What prevented him from calling a bra a bra?
After delivering my first baby, I slipped into
nursing bras.
The kind with little hooked flaps on the cups
to open each side for feedings on alternate breasts.
I was advised to leave my flaps down to air dry my nipples.
I began to question the utility of bras.
Why wear them at all if the flaps were always down?
The breasts protruding?
Well, I rationalized, to protect myself from unsolicited suggestions, and often sharp criticisms, from my mother-in-law.
Peering at me while I fed the baby.
So, I resurrected the same bras for three more pregnancies.
By the time my fourth child was school age,
my bust had completely remodeled itself.
At times, I shunned my bras.
In winter, I didn’t bother with them when wearing camisoles or vests.
Nor in summers at the beach under dark tees.
I bought the simplest bras from Warner’s:
no pads, adjustable straps, no wires, two hooks.
I dutifully wore them to work no matter what I wore on top.
But when the pandemic erupted in March 2020, I took those bras off for a year.
There was no place to go, no one to see.
On Zoom, the screen displayed only the neck and face.
Going braless brought comfort.
It wasn’t political.
It wasn’t about breathing easier,
although the fear of getting sick, not
being able to breathe, played a role.
I longed to be in touch with my whole body, not isolate part of it.
I missed the easy freedom of pre-adolescent years.
There was something soothing about the sensation of my breasts inside shirts, nipples close against the cloth.
I found that after vaccination, on the few occasions when I saw people, putting on my bra made me feel dressed up, glamorous, curvaceous.
I searched Amazon to replace old unpadded, simple bras.
To my surprise, they no longer made them.
So, I ordered three fifteen dollar bras.
One beige, one butterscotch, one gray.
If I want to feel seductive, I’ll put one on,
along with lipstick and eyeliner.
When I’m in a passionate embrace,
I no longer mind unfastening the hooks myself.
The exhilaration naturally uplifts.
Lynn Benjamin
November 6, 2021
