support, please

A few hundred years ago, there came an amazing invention. It was designed with support and comfort in mind and it revolutionized a gender. Suddenly women found themselves able to lift themselves like never before. The concept of high and proud took on new meaning and the phenomenon of the brassiere was born.

Over time it developed into the fantastic construction of stitches, wires, and hooks we now know today. It exploded into an entire multi-billion dollar industry for women of all shapes and sizes, all styles and fetishes. It took what is a basic need for every woman and made it interesting and fun and sultry.

You can get bras in virtually any cut or material, from size A to G (yes they have a size G), in solid, flowered, lacy, leopard print, cut out, demi-cup, full cup, air push up, water push up, chicken cutlet insert push up, smoothing, t-shirt and minimizing. And I have only scratched the surface of what is available to the delicate, xx gender. So why, o why, I beseech the masses, do so many women scoff at the usage of this fantastic and necessary unmentionable? (*hint*, this is one I truly do not have an answer for).

As an ample-bosomed woman, I can pretty much never go without this item, nor have I ever been able to, on a regular basis and certainly not without some other sort of safeguard in place like a strategically tightened strap or a shelf bra. This is not for fear of sagging, but really more in awareness that my girls are ahead of me every step of the way, and need some comfort and protection. However, I am of the opinion that none of us should go without. Not if you are small and perky, not if you are sadly pancaked, not if you are large, full and voluptuous. No, no, aaaand no.

See what the ladies don't seem to realize is that even if they are small and perky and their mini-jugs are not flopping and crashing into one another, they are still often heading in different directions, each with her own agenda. One says Statue of Liberty, the other the Empire State building. Uptown vs. downtown, and the little pencil erasers are there to let each passerby know which wants to go where.
See the thing with boobs is, they can't be left unprotected, covered only by a thin piece of fabric. Because when there's a nipple standing up, demanding attention, you can't help but look, no matter who you are. It's like a magnet screaming NIIIIIPPPPLLLEEEEE!! Avert your eyes! Try and look away, I dare you!

But you can't. Because see, even if they are tiny, they are still sorta saggin. And if they're not perky, which lets be honest, the lion's share are not, it's even more unavoidable, bordering on tragic. I see it all day and I cringe each time. I think to myself.....is this woman poor? No, she is carrying a real Gucci bag, wearing Louboutains and a well-tailored silk shirt. Silk, incidentally, is like a flashlight on the problem area, exposing not only the nipple, but the outline of the areola as well - a horrifyingly inappropriate sight.

Even the most construction-worker-y men I know, while they will admire this faux-pas for it's almost-skin exposure, will digress that it makes the wearer look like a twinkie dressed as an eclair. Trash in fancy wrapping. I wonder.....do these women not own mirrors or friends who don't let friends sag and flop in public? Do they not have mothers or better yet fathers, who see them in photos and say "dear god, girl cover those udders up!" I can only surmise that they lack all of those essential elements to a happy and non-humiliating life, or some caring soul would let them know of the embarrassment to which they expose themselves.

Another and less talked about issue here is that the woman who likes to let her girls run free, will most likely do this for the bulk of her adult life, destined to become that woman. The one in her mid-forties, who regularly dons the light-colored tank top, drawing attention to the race toward her knees, perpetually being run by her deflated fun bags. She still thinks she's hot.

I can only pray that at some point, the fashion gods will rain down hellfire and brimstone on the shunner of the great, womanly supporter. Eventually, they must all fall into line. I think even Gloria Steinham will be with me here. Lock 'n' load, ladies.