My week without a bra
Fuck bras. Free the nipple
My breasts were once described by a former lover as “the kind that Drake writes songs about.”
I’m sick and fucking tired of keeping my pair in boob prison for 12 hours a day just because I’m expected to.
Truthfully, this isn’t a political statement. It’s an act of comfort.
The #freethenipple campaign has been gaining momentum for a long time now. Probably because people have been waking up to the fact that nipples are just nipples. We all have them, regardless of gender. Some of us have three. Some have six.
To any non-bra wearers out there, imagine wearing, daily, a pair of tight socks designed to prime your feet, but probably don’t fit well, and stab you and cut into your skin and make you sweaty and stick out over your trousers and just make everything bloody uncomfortable.
So I’ve stopped wearing a bra. My boobs are just small enough to not cause mass hysteria or any back pain without an undergarment. Science has proved that there is literally no benefit in strapping into an over the shoulder boulder holder, so why bother?
What I learned: literally nothing will change.
Sure, when it’s cold, you get pokies, you smuggle peanuts. Who’s gonna say anything?
I live in Paris where attitudes towards breasts are a little more laid back. Nipples are trés chic.
For the first foray into bralessness, I went all out. Tight-fitting top, skinny jeans, to two house parties, a bar, and a club.
Nothing exceptional to note, except the notable lack of discomfort and awkward bra-pulling. Nobody noticed, or stared.
One male friend did tell me he was looking, “just to check” that I really wasn’t wearing a bra, but I made it very clear that this wasn’t welcome and told him to fuck off. Just because they’re free doesn’t make them public property. Obvs.
Day two: a vest top with full glass-cutting pokie potential. There was no revolution. And the self consciousness is far outweighed by the comfort.
Ever since I’ve been freeing the nipple.
Jumpers, dresses, shirts, pyjamas: bras no longer feature in my wardrobe.
The biggest challenge was work – I work in retail at the weekends where my appearance is viciously scrutinized.
I took a bra in my bag just in case someone noticed but guess what? They didn’t.
I went my whole shift nipples drifting freely as a cloud.
So I’m burning my bras. They’re expensive, uncomfortable, and unnecessary. Personally, I love nipples. Especially my own.
Maybe Drake will see them and be inspired to write a new album.
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(This article was first published in November 2014)