or, MY BOOBS: let me show you them
I recently had my very first encounter with personalized bra fitting.
The specialty store I went to advertised a range of bras
from ‘AA’ right up to ‘Double J,’ back sizes from ‘30’ to ‘54,’ and more.
A non-fat* friend of mine, who swears by this store, assured me I would have absolutely no trouble finding my size. I was a little bit more realistic—I am a 40/42 B, which makes me too small a cup for plus-sized bras and too large a back measurement for ‘regular’ sizing. Still, I am willing to try anything once, so we made a date to go the very next time there was a sale.
The place had an environment that was almost uncomfortably fetishistic—the moment I walked in, my visual plane was invaded by boobs. Not just boobs—BOOBS. Limbless, legless female torsos clad in lingerie festooned the walls. The forms were transparent, which made it look a bit like sex ghosts were melting through the walls. I was immediately on my guard; all of the (wo)mannequins were your standard size and style, no different from anything you might find in, say, Victoria’s Secret. For a store that advertised that they carried every size, I found this rather disappointing.
My fitting took place in a room that was kitty-corner to another fitting room. I never saw the woman in the other room, but am now privy to the intimate details of her life, including her name, measurements, and various bodily quirks. I think the idea behind them using your name in every sentence is to make the fitting feel personal, but all it did in my case was make me feel like she was an undercover cop trying to entice a confession.
When the sales associate came in to see me, she asked me where I was on the night of October 15th what size I was. When I told her, she immediately replied that I was probably not wearing the correct size of bra, and that I would feel a lot more comfortable after the fitting. This assumption rankled me a bit—I know that in her job, she must see this a lot, but honestly? If there’s one thing most fat girls know, it’s what size they are and how to dress themselves comfortably.
The next thing my boob stylist did was to announce, loudly, “Did you notice, Eve, that your left breast is significantly smaller than your right?” Now, I understand that some women may need to be asked that question, but in my case, it’s kind of like asking someone, “Did you notice that one of your feet is a size six and one is a size ten?” (I like to joke that one is a mouthful and one is a handful.)
After a variety of bizarre underwear calisthenics, we arrived at the conclusion that I was, in fact, the exact size I had claimed to be upon my arrival. (To be fair, a non-plus-sized friend of mine did discover that she was a different size than she thought.) I was then told that—surprise!—the store doesn’t usually stock 42 B, and had only one style of 40 B that would suit my needs (read: not have any kind of sausage link effect on my back).
The bra my new girlfriend (no one gets to touch my goodies that much without some kind of commitment!) brought me to try on was pretty generous in the cup area. She then returned with her hands cupped around what appeared to be a pair of small, quivering jellyfish. They were, of course, not sea creatures, but objects that were equally as distant from my personal experience: silicone ‘enhancers’. “They look and feel just like the real thing,” she told me, handing them to me almost lovingly, then instructed me on how to insert them into my bra.
I was a bit stunned. I had not mentioned anything about being enhanced, yet it was taken for granted that I needed/wanted the improvement.
When my associate went into the fitting room next door, I overheard the other woman inquire about the product I’d just been shown. “I’d like to try some of those enhancers,” she remarked. “They sound great.”
“Oh, no,” the associate replied. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t need them.”
I wonder how many women go to these fittings looking for comfort and leave feeling more self-conscious about their breasts than they did when they arrived. My research tells me that most women have one breast larger than the other—why all the subterfuge? Anyone who actually gets to second base is going to know anyhow, and frankly, I don’t really care what people who are not going to see me naked think of my tits.
The experience reminded me of another time, years ago, when I was trying to fit into an outfit I wanted to wear for a special occasion. I went to a department store and tried on, I swear to God, their entire selection of body shapers. I was in the middle of squeezing into my eighth or ninth vulcanized rubber unitard, when I suddenly realized that I should be altering the clothes to fit my body, not my body to fit the clothes. So I took the money I would have spent on the body shaper and bought a sewing machine instead.
I’d like to say I didn’t buy the enhancers either, but I did. I’m recently single, and a bit lonely, and for just a split-second I wanted to feel like I had an extra edge, something that might help me get my tits foot in the door. (So far the only action I’ve gotten is from my pal stitchtowhere, who elected to test my claim that the bonus boobage feels like the real deal.) Standing there in the fitting room with my top off, I felt alone and vulnerable and unattractive (which is the exact opposite of how one of these fittings is supposed to make you feel). So, yeah, I bought them. I would take them back, but obviously they are non-refundable for hygenic reasons.
And you know, I probably will wear them once in a while—I’m going to a costume party this weekend, which is precisely the sort of environment where those things belong.
*I hate the term ‘non-fat’, which makes my pals sound like something a person might order from Starbucks, but the use of ‘skinny’ has become so derogatory lately that I am reluctant to resort to it.
Tags: Eve Readers have left 7 comments. No.1 Untitled
I had a similar experience the first time I went for a bra fitting. After I'd tried on 3 ill-fitting bras to humor the woman, who was utterly convinced I was about to have a bra size epiphany, she finally acknowledged that I was indeed wearing the right size when I walked in.
What is up with that? I know lots of women DO learn from these encounters that they were wearing the wrong size, but I swear, the women in these places take it as a personal affront if you actually walk in knowing what size you wear. And it's an incredibly shitty head trip to be told you MUST be wrong from the get-go -- especially when the implication is that you're deluded about how fat you are.
No.2 Untitled
I was hesitant to post about it because so many of my friends did have positive experiences with their fittings. And I definitely think there is value in the process of having a person measure you and help you find clothes that suit you--it just never seems to work for me. I had the same thing happen at LB when I was chased around by a Right Fit advocate, and ended up buying ten pairs of underpants in an effort to prove to myself that SOMETHING in the world was made to fit over my backside. The good news is that the undies made me very happy. No.3 Untitled
I'm sorry to hear this was such a poor experience. There's a specialty store near me that I've had intermittent luck with. I wear a 38G (though my right one is more like an F) so it's there or online and I just feel as if I need to try on a bra to know if it's going to work for me. It all depends on the fitter and how busy they are there. My first visit was a great experience with a woman who was careful and considerate and helped me come to terms with the fact that no, I was not just a really big DD cup and there was a reason why shopping in traditional stores just wasn't working out! On the other hand, I took my Mom there and she ended up having an experience that sounded very much like yours. I almost feel as if a good bra-fitter is as important as a good hair dresser and a bad one of either is just a disaster. No.4 Untitled
I never have good luck when I let someone else tell me what size to wear. I had a very dismissive boob-fitter who handed me a 38G, told me it was right over my objections, and then said that she wouldn't be able to find any demi-cups in a size like THAT (I've been able to find plenty in a 38G, which would be nice if it were my size). Same sort of deal when a jewelry store woman swore blind that she should resize my ring to a 7 1/2... she went for 7 3/4 because of my strenuous objections, and I can't get the damn thing off in the summertime. Etcetera. So much for professionals... guess I can't trust anyone to want what's best for my body but me. No.5 Untitled
It's amazing what we'll down when some expert-in-taking-our-wallets says. I've been known to buy an idiot bra-purchase to squish my tits down (as they overflow) because the sales-person said so.
And because hey,when the chick that's supposed to make you feel all great and well-dressed says you look like hell, then you must right?
Wrong.
I hope your costume went well though!! No.6 Untitled
etana: it did. :) No.7 Untitled
I know I'm coming to this late but I just wanted to say I love the title of this post.
I also, sort of in the fitter's defense, would like to point out that most people who come in for fittings do so *because* they're wearing the wrong size, so it's not a totally wrong assumption to make.
Unfortunately, some of us wear the wrong size because nobody carries our real size, so going to a store that doesn't carry our size for a fitting is probably not very helpful.
But yes, I feel your pain. I haven't been in for a fitting since I was 18 and in the UK. (34E! Oh, post-adolescent weight gain, I shake my fist at thy cruelty. Er, I mean, not really. I'm all about size-positivity. I just wish I could get a bra for less than $75.)
Figleaves.com has saved my life, incidentally. I now own a 34GG bra in bright scarlet. Best thing in the world. |
