First off, I want to say screw you Victoria’s Secret.
Secondly, a little side note screw you to Hollywood and all the ways you make women feel bad about our bodies.
I take full credit for never fully appreciating the perfect white snow globes that sat atop my pre-mommy chest for what they were, but I will not take full credit for the massive emotional break down that took place in a Victoria’s Secret fitting room this week as I tried to find something new for my post baby/ post breastfeeding boobs.
I’ve recently become the newest member of the itty bitty titty committee and this set of chesticles is completely unfamiliar to me. I’m working with all new material here, literally & figuratively. I’m swimming in the bras I wore even 6 months ago… And to further prove my point, even my once tight as all hell sports bras are lipping at the top… Who the hell knew that was possible? I certainly didn’t.
I’m learning to be okay with these changes… Always sort of wanted a smaller chest, now *poof* you got it mama.
And believe me, I have no real qualms with the toll that motherhood takes on the body. If someone were to tell me that in order to be a mom, you’ll have to end up completely covered in stretch marks from head to toe, your hair will turn shit green & yellow, and all of your finger nails will fall out… I would still do it. My life with my 1 year old and the 7 months we spent breastfeeding are irreplaceable. My issue is not the body changes, my issue is the excess of expectations and the lack of real awareness around it. I could delve so much deeper into this and in fact I surely will in future writings, but I want to keep this post about the cha chas.
I blame myself for not knowing better that the place I bought my bras at 17 years old should NOT be the same place I buy my bras at 28. I don’t shop at Forever 21 any longer because I’m far past 21 and am no longer a fan of quickly disposable clothes, so from now on I’m putting VS in that same DO NOT SHOP category for the same reason. I found out exactly what Victoria’s dirty little Secret is: She’s a sneaky son of a b**** that’s monopolized the market for bra boutiques and made sweet perky 16 her target age shopper.
I do sort of joke. But in all honesty, over the years I’ve done enough shopping there to know that although it seems like a store full of options, in reality it’s a dressing room full of disappointment. Even in my very young, very bouncy days I usually left the store empty handed and discouraged (with the exception the ol’ 5 for $25 deal on PINK lacy underwear that fell apart after 3 washes).
Although the young girl that helped me there recently did the best that she could offering up a few suggestions and giving me new measurements for my little boobies, no amount of crappy products that they had on their racks would have prevented the monsoon of tears that flowed freely as I snuck out of the fitting room to rush my husband & baby out the door with me. I was in a store that I no longer felt I belonged in and after trying for years & years to make it work… My body had made the final decision for me and said get the hell out of here and never look back.
I gave myself a day of self loathing and the next day marched my ass to Nordstrom at The Grove. Upstairs tucked away in the corner of the store was a cute little selection of bras that was far far less overwhelming than the shit storm of a store I walked into the day before…
It was then in that fitting room I experienced a little bit of heaven. I swear to god I saw a cherub fly out from between my cleavage.
I found at least 8 bras that made me feel again like the badass mama that I am. And the sales associate was a patient dream to boot. The selection was smaller but the amount of quality bolder holders (or in my case, pebble holders) I stumbled upon was largely unbelievable. The kicker to all this? These bras were the SAME PRICE POINT as the last place and I even found 1 particular killer Calvin Klein bra that unbeknownst to me set to be moved to Nordstrom Rack & marked down to $21.97. I’m wearing it right now, it’s the equivalent of both my breasts being hugged by their own individual clouds.
That night I went home with 4 perfect little bras in hand* and in my head had a small funeral service for my late big boobs. I told them I’m sorry I never treated them right by giving them the bra they deserved and for never fully appreciating them in their glory… But it was time to say goodbye. I then looked down at my wiser more experienced itty bitties and told them they had been through enough… From now on I choose quality over Secrets any day and I hope that this reaches some other mommies out there before they have to have a break down in a fitting room too. Please know that it’s not you, it’s them. I really mean that.
xo mamas ( . )( . )
*Betsey Johnson & Calvin Klein, you my homies