People for the Ethical Treatment of Mammaries (PET M)

Part III of this week’s superficial, yet fundamentally important stuff series features a breast-related topic.  [DISCLAIMERS:  Readers who are unduly titillated by breast-related discussions or by breast-related images, or even by the word, “titilated” probably shouldn’t read any further. Also, none of the photos you will see are of me or of anyone I know.]

The other day, whilst commenting on the clothing post, Lesley said: The girls just need to be properly supported and displayed.  And, I thought, “why”? And, “who came up with this theory that breasts require ongoing support?”

Breasts are mostly fat with a little background muscle. If you put muscle in a sling it stops being muscular, right? So wouldn’t breasts be better off free, forcing the muscle to get stronger and stronger as gravity makes the fatty parts of the breast heavier and heavier?

Not so long ago, hardly any woman under the age of 35 wore a bra. Our sisters in the 60s made a big point of freeing us all from the damn things.

And what happens? A few decades down the road and the bra is back with a vengence; bigger, stiffer and more confining than ever.

Never in the history of womanhood have bras been more upholstered, more defeminizing, constricting or subjugating.  Where once we had simple cotton cups gently encasing our hoohahs, we now have molded, welded foam and metal contraptions that can stand alone without actual breasts in them.

We have underwires and sidewires and sometimes topwires. We have anywhere from .5 to 1.5 centimeters of foam wrapped in a couple of layers of mystery fibre. We have those hard bulgy things or sacks of fluid inside that push and squeeze the breasts up and together for maximum cleavageability.

Today’s super-bras effectively make your breasts look like anything but actual breasts.

 What the hell?

To say these extreme brassieres are uncomfortable is a gross understatement. I don’t think breasts are meant to be contorted or caged this way. They can’t breathe. They can’t move. (Not even a little bit). And they get really, really sweaty on even a mildly warm day.

And how do you store these sturdy titty traps? You can’t fold them. Each one takes up a whole drawer. Are you supposed to put them on hangers in your closet? Display them on your wall? Just keep them on —  always?

And you can’t wash them. They’re so thick they never dry. And the layers and layers of foam get all distorted and lumpy.  And the wires rust and start creaking. It gets pretty ugly, let me tell you.

So, do you: throw them out when they get smelly;  take them to the dry-cleaners; have a valet steam them clean once a day? What?

And, of course all this ta-ta technology doesn’t come cheap, does it? They’re roaming the three-figure neighbourhoods these days.

Why are we putting up with this abuse? Okay, you don’t want them bouncing around too much, but surely that can be accomplished without expensive, industrial strength harnessing.

Boobies are too pretty to be imprisoned and hidden away.