The Pink Shoe Diaries

When September rolls around, I start thinking about bras.

I have a long and sordid history with The Bra. I didn't require one until 7th grade and even then I was a euphemistically titled "Nearly B". God forbid I admitted I was an A. Mon Dieu. Of course being the late bloomer that I was I basically shot from an A to a C the summer in between 7th and 8th grade. For me this meant the Advent of Underwire, and while I traded the comfort of the flimsy training bra for the artillerary of a contraption whose sole purpose was to defy gravity, I was asssuaged by the fact that they were really pretty. So for 4 years I languished in the world of colorful silks and floral and lace.

And then, due to genetics (my mom is a petite lady but she wears a DDD ) when I was a high school graduate I wearing a Double D.

Of course you realize that once you pass D land it is an express train to Lady Grace, home of the matronly nana bra. So I traded in my silks and lace and florals for Stoic Nudes and Golden Girls Black. My underwear might have been a hot pink thong, but my bra was a 4 hooked, faux pearl adorned BRASSEIRE.

Truth be told it wasn't so bad. As I went through college the Freshman 10 went straight to my chest and by the time I hit 21 I was a Triple D. Even when I lost 20 lbs or so when I was on my inadvertant Vodka and Hummus diet of 2002, It didn't make a bit of difference.

And, matronyly nana bras aside, I never really cared that much about it. Other than the fact that when we would go out clubbing, people felt it was okay to blatantly ask if I was a stripper. And other than the fact that I had to wear a shirt 2 or 3 times bigger than my actual size and have it taken in at the waist. And other than the fact that I could not wear a strapless bra because it would have been like using a piece of paper to stop an avalanche.

As you can see, the "other than the facts" began to build up. And when I was 23 years old, and flirting with an E cup. I decided enough was enough. Let me tell you, breasts that are naturally that big usually are not that attractive. It got to the point that I would actually SLEEP in a bra and let me tell you, those Wacoal minimizers may get the job done but they lack heavily as a lounge wear accessory.

So, I decided the time had come to talk to a cosmetic surgeon. Since my mom was a nurse, I asked her to get me the name of the best one in these parts and as soon as the name was in my hand I was on the phone booking a consultation. Of course when Dr. H took one look at me she knew that 1) I was an EXCELLENT candidate for a breast reduction and 2) my insurance would definitely cover it. So we set the date, early September of 2003. And then I only had 6 long months to wait.

In the end, it was the easiest thing ever. I was never in it to become a B cup because who am I trying to fool? I hadn't been a B cup since 8th grade. I just wanted to be a little more proportionate, and perhaps be able to wear a shirt that actually FIT me. So we decided to go from an E to a D (3 sizes). They threw in a breast lift for good measure which is the greatest thing EVER and I am totally getting gone every 5 years after I turn 40.


In fact, mine came out so great that my mother got hers done a few years later!

And even though I was instructed to wear sports bra for a month this did not stop me from basically skipping into Victoria's Secfet less than a week after surgery and buying out the whole store, more or less. September became the month of the bra as I froliced among the push-ups and the demi cups and the cute criss cross straps, I knew that while September for some people means the beginning of fall, for me it would always mean the first month in my adult life that I could wear a strapless bra.