Life In A Sports Bra


Screen Shot 2016-02-16 at 4.14.53 PM“You should probably think about wearing a bra without underwire for a little bit,”
my chiropractor said to me after my exam. 

For most women, hearing this would be a God sent. Immediately they would begin imagining setting fire to their bras and doing a ritualistic dance around as they watched them burn. Think of the comfort. The sheer satisfaction of just letting it all hang out.

But the thing is … I’m not a normal woman. I love wearing bras. Don’t ask me why, but I just do. It’s not because they are pretty and feminine … in fact I hate purchasing bras, they are stupidly expensive. I believe it’s simply because they keep me secure. To the point where I don’t even need to think about the fact that I have taas that need to be supported. They just are.

I’m not that girl who gets home and pulls her bra through the arm hole of her shirt first thing. I take my bra off to shower, and that’s about it. I sleep with it. I work out with it (because I TOTALLY work out :::shifty eyes:::), I party with it. It’s like my best friend that I never have to think about. 

But being a woman sucks sometimes. Especially when you start getting a random burning pain in your right taa. Because when that happens you immediately think the worst and that you’re going to die. Which is exactly what happened to me last week. 

I Googled my symptoms like an idiot, which confirmed my fears I was dying, which then led me to a very uncomfortable breast exam from my Gynecologist (except my gyno wasn’t available, but I was so desperate so I was willing to go to anyone).

Let me tell you, it doesn’t get much worse then having a complete stranger who doesn’t know you feel you up and squeeze your nipples. It just doesn’t. 

Turns out I wasn’t dying, though. Whew. I know … you were all probably really concerned. No for real it was a huge relief. Never Google any symptoms EVER. WebMD should be burned at the stake. 

What happened was I apparently strained something in that area around my rib cage. Because you know, I work out SO much (see the shifty eyes comment above). So the only other option was I did something weird in my sleep. Sounds MUCH more realistic because I adore my bed AND sleeping. And because of that I have this random torturous pain in my right taa region that I just have to let “heal.” Cool. Did I mention being a woman is the worst? 

It wasn’t until I went to my chiropractor for a tune up that I realized this stupid burning pain in my taa, which I was 100% sure was cancer once upon a time (I’m so very thankful it wasn’t … you have no idea), was because my back was so effed up. Who knew.

And because the area around my right taa region was so inflamed, the underwire on my bra wasn’t helping the situation, making the inflammation worse. So when my chiropractor asked me if I could refrain from wearing underwire, what I really wanted to say was, “bitch do you KNOW what I would look like sans a bra?! NO ONE wants to see that.” But instead I just said, “sure? Ehhh?!” 

“You know … wear a bralette or a sports bra,” my chiropractor suggested. Umm okay … you have to be a tween or an A-cup to pull off a bralette. I have what my friends call, “secret bombs.” Huge taas, but you would never know because I never dress like a skank (man, I’m really opening up to you guys today). So a bralette would probably cover my nipple, and that just doesn’t do the body good.

My next option was a sports bra. And that is where I am at today. Rocking a sports bra at places other than the gym so my inflammation heals. I feel squished and smooshed. I feel like I have a uni-boob to be honest with you. The only thing that would make this situation better is if I could rip off my shirt and start singing Sporty Spices’ part in Wannabe … high kicks, flat abs and all. But alas that will never happen as I’m currently not in “Spice Girls shape” (you’re welcome in advance).

Now, for the first time in my life, I can’t wait to get home, rip my sports bra off and free ball it. Who knows? Maybe it will stick. 

But a little tiny part of me misses my underwire. Because all I keep saying to myself is, “you’re wearing a sports bra, you’re wearing a sports bra, you’re wearing a sports bra.” 

Now heal, body, HEAL. 

HELP! I’m Scared Of A Bra

Screen shot 2014-04-21 at 7.46.36 PMSo I thought life sucks in a strapless bra … no, life probably sucks more in a bra that is backless. Yes. Backless.

I love backless dresses. Always have. I think it is a really classy way to show a little skin without having your taas out or a slit going all the way up to your who-ha. I’m not talking about your entire back exposed so everyone can see your tramp stamp, no. Just a little, you know, peek-a-boo, if you will.

I stupidly fell in love with a dress at Zara that was backless … and on sale … for $20. I mean how could you possibly resist a to-die-for sale like this, right? It was that romantic length down to my ankles, cap sleeves. You know what, let me show you a picture … see below:

photo-17

Lovely … right? I was slash am obsessed with it. It’s comfortable, simple … everything a girl could want in a dress. But wait a tick … how does one with rather large taas get away without wearing a bra with this dress? If I do wear a bra, it will be exposed in the back, and I’m pretty sure only Carrie Bradshaw can pull off exposing a lime green bra whereas I would look like I got tossed from the hot mess express. So … what the hell do you do? Because unfortunately going braless is not an option. Trust me. Half of the room would be really excited when I walked in, leading me to turn 50 shades of red and run away in a panic, and half would be trying to sew a scarlett “S” on my chest for “slut.” No thanks. Also, this dress is slightly see-through. Le sigh … anything else Zara dress, ya needy jerk!?

So I went to the experts (shout out to Kim over at Linda the Bra lady), and cried to her with my brassues. I had tried a backless bra from Victoria’s Secret that basically had masking tape on the sides that you would stick to either side of your taas, which supposedly you could wear more than once, but in real life would slide off the minute you began to sweat. And quite frankly I didn’t want to have to carry masking tape in my purse to this event I was attending in said above dress. And yes, once upon a time when I was in college, I wore that stupid Victoria’s Secret backless bra and brought masking tape with me in case it fell off. Which it did. Pan to me masking taping my taas in the bathroom of a bar. Stay classy, self.

So enter Nubra bra stage left. When I met with Kim, I explained to her my bra dilemma and how I really can’t “free ball,” if you will (what … it’s okay for guys to say it but not me?). She introduced me to the Nubra bra and immediately I had flashbacks of the time back in college where I was masking taping my bra back on in some shady bar bathroom. I’m a big girl now … I need a big girl bra. According to Kim, she wore this bra on her wedding day, when it was a bazillion degrees and never came off. Wait, what? Yeah … I know … I was amazed, too. I was sold immediately because quite frankly, you don’t screw with a girl on her wedding day … especially one who is a bra expert. Ring me up.

Since purchasing, I’ve taken the Nubra bra on a test drive, and yes, it is thoroughly strange to wear … but oddly comfortable. No, it doesn’t support your taas in a way that magical underwire can, but does the trick for something staying up with just adhesive cups. You know that feeling of falling when you are just about to fall asleep? Well, this is the feeling I get walking around with this thing. Except instead of falling I’m waiting with bated breath for this thing to fall off.

I will be wearing Nubra this Thursday at an event, and need as many positive vibes as possible that a heinous wardrobe malfunction doesn’t occur. I suppose that is why alcohol was invented, right? Don’t get me wrong, I trust Kim’s opinion, but there is something about big taas and no underwire … and no back for that matter … that makes me EXTREMELY nervous.

Stay tuned for the aftermath post!

I Know Victoria’s Secret …

Here it is ladies and gents: She’s BEYOND, make you go insane, annoying.

Now I realize I’ve probably offended throngs of women with the word “PINK” tattooed appropriately across their asses, but let me explain. So a few years back, I got to interview Susan Nethero, also known as “The Bra Whisperer,” and owner of Intimacy, a very chic lingerie boutique. Besides walking away with my legit bra size that slimmed me down and a fabulous designer bra that I still have and covet, she gave me a very interesting and informative piece of advice that was: Victoria’s Secret is the devil. Plain and simple, they don’t fit women for bras that will work with their bodies, they instead use fit models and fit women based on them. I don’t know about you, but I ain’t no angel.

But here’s the thing. I personally cannot spend $80-$100 on one bra. Once in a blue moon? Sure, but when a girl needs new options, it just doesn’t financially make sense to spend that much on a new set of bras. I could buy a designer handbag or a new set of tires for crying out loud. But, alas I needed new bras. I looked to TJ Maxx, but they haven’t heard of a bra size bigger than 34C, and also believe in bras that have as much padding as my pillows with lots of hearts and stars all over them. Umm, what? I searched a couple of other designer discount places, but again … no such thing as a bra size bigger than a 34C.

So I had to bite the bullet and head to the land of PINK because my current set of bras were you know … falling apart. But let me break this down for you on why I found Victoria’s Secret to be BEYOND annoying, ahem:

1. There is such a thing as TOO much customer service, okay. From the moment I walked in, it was like I was a discounted Chloe bag at the Barney’s Sale. I. Got. SWARMED. “What can I help you with?” “Do you want to get fitted? You should probably get fitted. Claire, tell her how important it is to get fitted!” “Why don’t you open an Angel’s Card!” “Why don’t you like so much padding?” “Oh I see you staring at that bra across the room, should I get it for you, do you want it, do you want it in every color? I know you said you want black but we don’t have black … but the hot pink is AH-MAZING. I’ll get it for you in every color just in case.” “How are you making out?” “How are you making out NOW?!” How about now … you good?” For the love of Jesus. I get it … you want to please the customer, but sometimes, the customer just wants to God damn browse.

2. Why is everything so … sparkly? I know, I’m the queen of sparkle, how could I possibly be saying this, right? In my eyes (and I’ll preface this by saying I do not have a conservative bone in my body) but the only time you should have that many sequins on your bra is when you are working a pole. There is no point. In fact, I personally don’t understand any kind of bra that isn’t a solid color or lacy. But if you are looking for a cheetah print bra … you’ve come to the right place.

3. Back to the customer service thing. The MINUTE I picked something up, another woman in black was up my ass. “OMG … I have this bra in like 15 different colors, it is my ABSOLUTE … TO DIE … FAVORITE.” Really? This bra I just HAPPEN to have in my hand. Really? Ya sure? Or do you work on commission … which I really don’t know how it is possible for 10 different ladies to split a $50 sale.

4. You think you are safe in the fitting room, but you aren’t. Unless I’m with Susan Nethero, the woman who lives, breathes, and knows how to make boobs look absolutely, mind blowingly fabulous … I don’t want you in my fitting room with me as I’m getting naked trying on bras. Nor do I want you throwing things over the door for me to try on because you “insist” I’ll like them. And no … I don’t want you to stand outside my door as I’m trying to decide which stupid bra I want to buy lecturing me on how fantastic “Body by Victoria” is. “Kate … how is the Body by Victoria working out for you?” “You okay?” “Do you need help?” “It honestly, like seriously … you won’t get a better bra than that … ever.” What? Back it up … am I okay? Lady, I’m 25 years old … been wearing bras since I was 12, I think I can figure out how the clasp works … kay thanks.

5. You know it’s bad when the thought of leaving a store is the best moment of your life, which for me … escaping Victoria Secret without one more lady in black lecturing me on the ways of Body by Victoria and making it safely back to my car, which felt like the promise land, felt like heaven. I paid, I made no eye contact with ANYONE, but no … 5 feet away from the door, “so what did you decide?!” Me: Ummm, you know … one of the lacy ones …” “Body by Victoria?!” Me: Sure. “OMG … seriously, you are going to be addicted … such good bras … give you such good suppo …” And that is when I had to do something I didn’t want to do … be rude and say, THANK YOU!, as this girl was mid-sentence and escape.

Je-sus. I wish I could say I was over exaggerating that, but unfortunately I might be under exaggerating if anything. Here’s the thing … I don’t care about Body by Victoria, or all of the other idiotic, Angel-inspired, silly lines they carry. I care about if the bra fits, how it fits, how it makes my body look, if it gives me the right amount of cleavage, if it’s pretty. Normal things. I don’t need a sleep number bra with 24 inches of padding, I don’t need sparkle, I don’t need an inch of lace that will barely cover my nipples for the “sex” factor. I don’t need my grand mother’s bra. I need the bra for me.

And usually by 25 … you know what that is.

Answer To A Question Clearly Not Generated By The Female Population …

So since I have launched this blog, I’ve been getting a lot of fantastic feedback, comments and questions. And the most common question I have been receiving is, “Hey Kate, why DOES life suck in a strapless bra?” Now, mostly these questions have been asked by men because let’s be honest, I want to meet a girl who hasn’t had to wear one … and better yet … has worn one and enjoyed it. Because if so, you are a dirty liar my friend. So instead of me having to keep spurting out sentence fragments that include, “vice” “hell in bra form,” “uncomfortable torture device,” I decided, in the words of Jay-z, to take some time out to set the record straight for you.

Modern Day Torture Device: Now I know back in the day women used to crush their rib cages with ridiculously tight corsets to have that desired two-inch waist look, but the modern-day equivalent would be A. Spanks and B. Strapless Bras. There are all these myths, or truths depending on how you look at it and depending on where you buy bras, that you need to get it a size smaller … no no no … get it your EXACT bra size, no no no if you clasp it on the middle hook it will fit perfectly. It is different for every woman. Everyone has a dress they die for and really can only wear a strapless bra with. So we will shove ourselves into whatever works to pull off a look. We do it to ourselves, I realize it, guilty as charged. These bastards define the statement, “beauty hurts.”

The Strapless Bra Dance: If you have ever worn a strapless anything, you are guilty of doing this dance. Step 1: Taking your thumb and pointer finger to the outer sides of your bra, dress or shirt. Step 2: With your elbows out like you are about to do the chicken dance, you start moving you torso and chest area back and forth trying to shimmy your top up while clenching your teeth awkwardly. Step 3. Look down and make sure all appropriate body parts are covered and in their proper places, and glance to your left and to your right to make sure no one saw you do this. Step 4: Repeat in probably 5-10 minutes until it starts to look like an uncontrollable habit as the night goes on. There should be no shame, we effing have to do this so we don’t have a “Janet Jackson Super Bowl moment,” so mine as well make it look cool, right? During step 2, do a little Mick Jagger “rooster” move or something, you know, make it your own.

Fear the “Janet” Slip: We have to always be conscious of them, because they make us be conscious of them. They are clinging to our skin for dear life saying, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME WOMAN OTHERWISE I’LL DO IT … I’LL SLIP … I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL.” It isn’t like a normal bra that we can slap on and forget due to magical little saviors known as bra straps. No, we have to look alive 24/7, otherwise before you know it while you are breaking it down on the dance floor, having a glass of wine talking to a strapping young gentleman, driving in your car, or even talking to your boss … it happens. Slippage. A certain private something that rhymes with “ripple”, I will leave it at that, rears its ugly head and you are doomed. Doomed for being that girl, doomed for immediately realizing what just happened mid-convo, turning bright red, saying “OMG” and having to fumble to put it back in its strapless bra cage once again like I puppy that just tried to escape all the while wondering if the person you are conversing with saw. Try rebounding from THAT conversation … it is impossible. What were we just talking about?

Stage 5 Clinger: I’m personally a very independent person. Sometimes I like my space and can do my own thing without having to have someone hold my hand. So the fact that I have to strap this non-supportive, needy little biatch to my knockers just so I can rock a fabulous strapless dress is beyond annoying to me. I take care of it, I nurture it, I watch over it to make sure it is doing its job, for the love if I was the strapless bra’s boss I would have totally fired it by now. And do you know what I receive back? Hurtful indentation marks on my skin from it clinging on so hard and uncomfortable, sweaty pain . If it is too tight, which some are if you get a size smaller like some “experts” recommend, it can feel like your rib cage is being squeezed to death. Pleasant right? It is like the bra broke up with the straps and needs to cling to you as hard as possible in order to survive. Gross, leave me alone dammit.

Not, “Like a Glove”: Did I mention they NEVER fit properly? Bras were invented to give women a boast of confidence to make them look fierce and fabulous. What has a strapless bra every done for ANYONE? It either flattens you out, makes you sometimes look like you have four boobs if it cuts in a weird way or falls throughout the day, or there is this awkward gap between the actual cup and your skin. I mean it is a lose lose situation. I’ve tried to buy cute, fun and interesting strapless bras, you know the kind that can transform into 10001 different things, but they tend to not work even more than the normal boring ones. Hello, the gifts your mama gave you should be accentuated in an appropriate fashion, not just covered up in an uncomfortable vice.

Now I’m not a crazy feminist who is demanding we all burn out strapless bras right now to make a statement to the “men” who make us wear them. I am the first one to say we do it to ourselves for the sake of looking amazing. I respect that there are many fabulous strapless things out there that we deserve to rock. All I’m highlighting is the death that we put ourselves through in order to not look like a crazytown crack whore with our bra straps hanging out while we wear these strapless garments.

Now guys out there, all four of you who read this, I also respect the fact that sometimes, if you are sporty spice, you have to wear things like jock straps … which I can imagine to not be a slice of pie to deal with, right? So with that being said, I hope you all understand a bit better why life ACTUALLY does suck in a strapless bra. But we do it because fashion is fabulous. And hey, I’m an optimist, maybe one day I will find that golden garment that won’t slide down my back throughout the day, stab me, leave me breathless and make my boobs look as unattractive as possible.

Here is to hoping ladies!