…And while I’m on the subject of scantily dressed women…
I just tossed all of my bras into the charity bin. How un-recessionista of me, purging hundreds of dollars worth of perfectly good garments! This is because, although I’d taken the sworn advice of not one but TWO alleged bra fit experts, none of the dang things fit or made me look hot. Not even tepid.
Both brassiere-fit experts insisted vehemently that I’m a D cup. One practically wrestled me to the ground until I begged for mercy until I purchased a couple of DD cup bras. Despite being horrified that I could have achieve such insane busxomness, and being the idiot trusting soul I am, I invested in several gigantic-cupped bras. And for the first time in my life, my firmly-supported boobies entered the room before I did. This may be cool when you’re 25 but after that? Can you say matronly? Trust me, when you say that word about yourself, it hurts worse than a pointy steel underwire.
Long story short, I no longer care what the professional fitters’ tried and true tape measure formula says, I swim in D’s and don’t even get me started with the Double D’s! I am a C cup, thank you very much. May I add that I look infinitely better in a C? I look hot, not fat. My girls look 20 years younger.
The Recessionista Mama’s moral? The classic measurement method doesn’t work for everyone. If you’ve got a good sturdy rib cage like mine, the method may be off by an inch or two. This means either or both your chest and cup sizes may be wrong.
SO. Even if you hate bra shopping as much as I do, try on a variety of sizes close to the one you’ve been told you’re supposed to wear. Yes, this means spending more time choosing styles and searching for sizes.
Yes, it means dealing with more of those hideous bra displays in which the straps get all tangled together on those hateful little plastic hangers. Yes, I know you eventually get to the point where you just leave a hopelessly tangled rats’ nest of intertwined bras and hangers dangling from the rack. It’s part of the process.
Yes, it means spending more time in that dressing room with the disturbing unidentifiable odor.
Yes, if you go to Victoria’s Secret, it means sending the 19 year old salesgirl who just quit her job at Cinnabon back to search for your size a dozen times, which will take hours but will seem like days. Then you’ll have to endure her off the mark opinions. Trust me, she’ll always tell you that the most expensive bra looks best on you.
Buy bras that feel comfy from the start and look good under your clothes.
The whole point of buying bras is looking and feeling good about yourself, right?
Buy only bras you’re sure feel and look the way you want.
You’ll spend less and feel sexy.
Ahh. Gratification feels soooo good.
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Yeah, the VS lady convinced me I needed a bigger cup, but now I wish I hadn’t bought it. Makes me look like a cow.
And then, once you find a style that works for you, buy it in multiples! I have at least eight bras in the same style, but different colors.
My biggest beef lately with bras is that they ALL want to put me in a push-up. Really? Like I need my breasts up to my chin?
And don’t forget the best advice I was ever given (okay, maybe not the best, but it’s pretty good): Wear a flesh colored bra under a white shirt. Trust me.
Those bras in the photos you chose are rather pointy. You could poke an eye out with those things.
Ditto Jen’s comment. I buy in bulk. Not because I’m bulky but because I’m SO unendowed that it takes a special kind of bra for a girl like me. It’s called “young miss” and has a dainty rose between the soft padded cups.