Why I’m Finally Learning to Love My Massive Boobs

Boobs, right guys? Boobs. Boobs boobs boobs. Boobs are magical. Boobs power the internet. Boobs. PLUS: I've found some magic bras!

Nov 29, 2012 at 2:29pm | Leave a comment

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When I was 13 I had a short haircut that was growing out, bad skin and a flat chest. I looked like a less pretty Justin Bieber and got called “son” by our local bus driver. I was very excited about puberty happening.

By 15 I had started my period, and had good hair (well, no, OK, my hair was still mostly a mess) but still no boobs. None. I shopped for bras out of a mail order catalogue called Little Women.

Then, 16, BOOM. Or rather, BOOB. I got boobs. Gone were the days of AAA cups and my little brother making the whole family laugh by suggesting that my ancestors were “concave women” instead of cave women.

However, the sudden (practically overnight) onset of boobs made me go a little crazy. Despite the fact that I was too scared to let a boy touch me ‘til I was 18, there was a six month period at 16 when I would always get my boobs out at parties.

Also there was the time my friends and I put together a dance routine for our school's Achievement Assembly. During which, my boobs basically popped out. My brother and sister were in that assembly.

Luckily I grew out of that. I grew out of that like how my boobs grew out of a D cup. Then a DD cup. Then an E cup. Then an EE cup. You see where this is going. They would not. stop. growing.

I think this was partly due to weight gain, and partly due to some messing about with birth control. In the 9 years since the boob fairy stopped by and poked me in the chest with her stupid boob magic wand (it has boobs on it), I have gone from acceptably big boobs to stratospherically huge boobs.

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The rack in question.

Weirdly, other women don't seem to notice them. Or if they do, they're too polite to go "JESUS YOUR TITS ARE THE SIZE OF MY HEAD!" Unfortunately, the majority of ladies I know have D-cups or below, so they don't really 'get' my big boob issues. I have but one friend who, having once been a H cup, understands. She is my rock. My boob rock.

On the other hand, the majority of men I’ve been with have been nigh on transfixed with them (I guess I attract ‘boob men’ and my first proper boyf was almost certainly a boob fetishist in the making).

But it's not just a pot of boob gold at the end of the big boob rainbow, oh no. 

I'm 25 and going bra-less is not an option: my boobs are far from sag-tastic but they don't point up at the stars any more. So, goodbye to backless dresses and the like. And they get in the way: I have lost count of the amount of doorframes I have banged them on by accident. And don't even get me started on The Fear that when I get old I'll have to lug them round in a wheelbarrow.

I have considered reduction, I was even a bit in love with the idea for a short while, and starting thinking about trying to get one on the NHS (citing backache, emotional stress, etc).

Then I Googled that shit and it was not pretty. I decided I'd rather have big boobs than experience the frankly terrifying scarring that a breast reduction involves. Plus, I have this fear of dying under anaesthesia sooo…

Surgical procedures aside, the biggest issue I have is clothes shopping. The majority of good clothes don’t have no room for boobs. You can’t wear ruffles without looking like one of those scarily big-boobed old ladies. You can’t wear anything that buttons up unless you’re happy to go for the oversized option.

You cannot wear pink in any shade unless you want to look like a giant Barbie or a person off of The Only Way Is Essex*. Oh, and bra shopping is a total cluster fuck.

Which brings me to last week. I needed new bras. I bought two super-awesome leopard print bras recently, that were cute, but despite saying GG on the label, they are clearly a freaking C cup or something. This meant the only bra that still fit had been worn so often and so long as to become what my boyfriend helpfully described as 'fetid'. No amount of washing would fix this.

I took myself and my badly-supported rack to Marks and Spencer, expecting to cry as much as I normally do on a bra shopping trip (lots). 

But I only cried a little tiny bit, guys, because Marks and Spencer make magical bras!

Suddenly I was transported to a world where my boobs were being actually looked after, rather than strangled and squished.

I spent £75 that day and now I have an actual plethora of bras because here’s the other thing: M&S bras are affordable! No more £40 bras that ‘kind of fit’ from Bravissimo for me, I gots my £22.50 two-pack. And one of those bras is nude. NUDE! Would you warrant it? Turns out, nude underwear is, like, amazing. Why did nobody TELL ME THIS before?

It has taken me almost a decade to get used to my boobs, and though I still fear whatever the hell will happen to them if I ever get pregnant (boobpocalypse) I am mostly OK with them on a day-to-day basis.

Yeah, I still hate it when I can’t fit into anything cute, and yeah it’s irritating when people (always men) think that the existence of big boobs is in itself permission to talk about/touch them. But, that aside, I've finally learned to stop worrying and love my boobs.

*US readers, TOWIE is like The Hills or The City or somesuch, but infinitely more horrifying.

Becca is on Twitter @Becca_DP