Sunday, November 21, 2010

To All The Braless Women

To all the braless women:

There are protests that I can get on board with. Veal: horrible the way they lock those little cows up to keep the meat white. Pesticides that poison the groundwater; skateboards on sidewalks; gummy bears in flurries (those can wreck a perfectly good tooth); red dye 40; killing Dolphins in the name of Tuna. And sweatshops: horrible the way they lock those little kids up and pay them next to nothing.

But not bras.

There was a time when getting rid of your bra, burning it, was a way to show that you were a feminist; a woman who was no longer succumbing to the power handed to men. We still fight some of those fights. We have access to birth control, yet insurance companies still get away with paying for a mans Viagra but not The Pill. Women still have less power in corporations, and get paid less than equally qualified or even less qualified men. Young girls are routinely told that “girls just aren’t good at math”, that the boys will always be better athletes than them, and discover at a young age that it's easier to find over-sexualized pop stars to idolize than women of substance to set their sights upon.
I get this.
I’m in on this fight.
But showing your nipples in public is not going to make the world take you more seriously. Nor will knowing the exact shape of your breasts-whether it be the basketballs you’ve paid someone a lot of money to own, deflated and sad, or tennis ball in tube sock-help me to understand the plight of today’s woman. In fact, I find it utterly impossible to hear you roar, woman, when I’m distracted by the way your breasts seem to swing to and fro in perfect time to “Like a Virgin”.

Okay, so maybe you aren’t trying to make a political statement with your free breasting ways. Your argument would be that bras are uncomfortable; men don't have to wear them no matter how large their Moobs may be. I can accept that; they aren’t the number one most comfortable thing to wear. Everyone knows the most comfortable thing to wear is a snuggie.

Bras poke, suffocate, and dig into our shoulders. It's an extra step to dressing every morning. They are one more thing to wash on laundry day, one more expensive item to buy when that wire inevitably finds it's way out of the bra and into the soft flesh of our armpits. I invite all of you to refuse to wear a bra in the comfort of your own home. I hate them as much as the next woman. The first thing I do when I walk in the door after work is whip mine off Jennifer Beal style, as evidenced by the bra currently sitting on my dining room table.

When you leave the house, however, put one on. No matter how small they are; “I hardly have anything I don't need a bra” doesn't cut it after the age of sixteen. No matter how perfect they are; “Mine look great without a bra”, may be true, but the only person who should know that is your significant other and your doctor.