A Letter To the Underwire I Will Never Wear Again
Listen, Underwire, we have to part ways. I want to assure you, it’s not entirely your fault; you’ve served your purpose well over the years. Despite the fact that by the end of the day, you used to dig into some uncomfortable places, I would keep you around a lot longer if I could. But you see, last year I had to make some difficult decisions. As a result, in the exact place where you used to rest (and dig) along my body, I now have scars. They tell me that if I keep wearing you, I won’t feel it if you press into my freshly vulnerable skin and you could cause me damage. For my own good, I have to let you go.
As I do this, I am reminded of how good you made me feel in my own skin. Oh, how easy it was to just pop into a store and try you on. I remember looking over all my options and how my biggest concern was what colour to choose from. Lace, bows, halter, strapless, satin, stretchy, delicate, casual, sexy – I had you all. Endless possibility. I remember the confidence boost I would get from finding that perfect fit, especially when you were embedded in one of those grossly misleading push-up bras. In my search for a replacement, I can try on the entire department store, but nothing makes me feel quite the same.
Now, the only place I feel comfortable with a personal bra fitting is at the mastectomy boutique; the fitter has definitely seen it all. At a regular store I would probably look more like a mad science experiment. But, let’s face it Underwire, since my foobs are made from tissue and skin that used to be my belly, I kind of am. For the last few months, my options have been more limited. I have settled for simplicity and comfort. Instead of wires and padding that push ‘em up, I look for thick bands around the bust line that stay down and won’t ride up without my feeling it. There’s nothing sexier than raising your arms over your head to put your hair up (small celebration for the fact that I can do that again!) and exposing yourself with your bra up around your neck. And, of course, it has become totally normal to feel myself up during a group exercise class to make sure the bra is still in place (and, if I’m totally honest, that the foobs are still good and attached after all the bouncing). My priorities have changed. I look for fabrics that I can tolerate against my skin for longer than five minutes and wonder how I ever managed to keep you on all day long. Imagine my disappointment this summer, when I found you in my favorite bathing suit, and my surprise when, after I cut you out so I could continue wearing it, I actually found it to be more comfortable. In the end, I may not actually miss you that much at all…- Vanessa Greco
