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. 

28 Going On 13

Bra-fittingWhen you go bra shopping with your mom, no matter what age, it’s like you’re suddenly transported back to that awkward time in life when you first became a “woman.” Ugh. I, fortunately, don’t have an awkward “first bra shopping experience” story, though. My mom just suddenly starting putting sports bras in my stocking on Christmas morning and in my room randomly, and I would turn purple and pretend they didn’t exist. Totally normal.

Luckily my need for new bras and to be fitted again aligned perfectly with the Nordstrom Anniversary sale, because I HATE how expensive good bras are. It isn’t fair and I’ll never understand it. Hence why I wear them out to the point of my underwire stabbing me on my side. 

As a 28-year-old broad, I know what I likes in a bra. Black or nude, lacy, no padding … boom, I’m supported. But when it comes to getting fitted and having a stranger get all up in yo bid-ness … well I’m immediately transported back to being and awkward teenager. I stand there topless, fidgeting, crossing my arms over my taas, then changing it up and just putting my hands over my taas to not feel so exposed.

Bra Fitter: So have you ever been fitted before? 

I don’t know if this lady thought I was younger than I was because I was there with my mother, or if she thought I was an incompetent idiot, but I’m 28. If I hadn’t been fitted before, I would have had a serious issue in life. 

And then there was my mom …

Mom: Kate are you in here?

Me: Yes. (I was topless and getting felt up by a stranger)

Bra Fitter: We are over here, Mom! 

Mom: Can I come in? :::opens door::

Me: :::Still topless, getting felt up by a stranger, and now turning purple:::

Mom: Can I leave my purse in here with you? It’s heavy. 

Me: Mom … yes, BYE.

After my size was determined (no I won’t share that info with you, ya pervs), the bra fitter went out in search of bras I would like. She returned with a plethora of … well … ugly. Leopard print, sparkle … and color. I felt my 28-year-old self returning. 

Me: I’m going to be up front with you … I only really wear black and nude bras.

Bra Fitter: Well that’s boring.

Me (in my head): Uhhhhh…

Mom: How’s it going in here?!?

Me: All good, Mom. :::Sigh::: All good.

Okay, what is boring about black and nude lingerie? If I’m buying an $80 bra, I want to be able to wear that shit with ev-er-y-thing. Not some cheetah print nightmare with a blue lace border that I could only whip out for nights out at “da club” which ps. NEVER happen anymore. 

For the love of Jesus, I’ve been around the block with bras. I’ve been fitted by the best of the best. Literally, and I’m bragging here on purpose, I’ve had a woman who people refer to as the “bra whisperer” feel me up. It was glorious. I just needed to know my damn bra size since it had been about a year since my last fitting and then I could figure it out from there. Feel me up, give me a number, and I’ll take care of the rest. 

I wish getting fitted for bras was less awkward, I really do. And I wish bra fitters when they sense the topless woman in front of them is uncomfortable would stop highlighting the face. “Relax, hun, it will be over soon.” I’m not at the gyno getting a pap-smear, you are just wrapping a tape measure around my body. I’m uncomfortable because I’m topless and I don’t know you and my mother is standing on the other side of the dressing room door like I’m trying on prom dresses. 

Sigh … some things never change. If you ever, for some strange and bazaar reason, want to re-live your teenage years … go bra shopping with your mother or other woman-figure in your life. It makes for some funny and awkward situations, I’ll tell you that much. 

Ahhh memories … 


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:


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!

Let Me, Let Me Bra-ducate YAH!

Ladies, I feel as if we are neglecting our taas a bit. Myself included. It’s true … let’s own it. Hence why I made the trek to Manhattan yesterday to have the best-of-the-best in all the land of bra fitters bra-ducate me on why breasts matter, and deserve to be uplifted and fitted in fine, beautiful fabric. Even though they live under pretty clothes doesn’t mean they can’t transform your whole entire look, am I right?

Now yes, bras are notoriously expensive. Do I want to buy a pair of shoes for $89 or do I want to buy a really pretty bra for $89? Shoes have always won in my book, until I was made very aware of the fact that the bras I own … well … need to be burned.

I walked into Linda the Bra Lady‘s store wearing my cutest little Betsy Johnson bra … that I purchased maybe a year and a 1/2 ago. I just knew it didn’t fit me properly since, between you and I, my taas have grown a bit over the past couple of months … thanks birth control (yep … we’re gettin’ REAL honest today). And women should get fitted more than every four years … taa sizes aren’t forever. Remember that.

So since I’ve been through the bra fitting process before, I was well aware of the fact that this awesomely talented bra fitter I had just met, shout out to Kim, was about to get all up in my bid-ness, and I had no choice but to own it and be okay with it. So I took my shirt off so she could inspect what was going on under the hood, if you will. Wait … ew … that sounds really … just ew. Sorry. Anywho … she measured me and turns out, hey, my bra size wasn’t too far off, BUT she made it very clear to me that my bra needed to be retired … or burned, either or.

But let’s talk about “bra size” shall we? A, B, C, D, double D, E …wait F?! Who the eff is an F?! Umm … actually, a lot of women are nowadays. When you tell someone your bra size is past a double D … you probably get some strange looks like you’re an alien from outer space blessed with huge taas, or sheer “jackpot” excitement from dudes. But turns out, most of you are probably wearing the wrong bra size and should go back to the drawing board … because YOU, yes YOU, may just be past a D, my friend. There is nothing wrong with going past a double D. It doesn’t mean you are porn star status or a freak. It means women are built differently nowadays, and we need to realize the “norm” is no longer A-DD. Size is just a size. Comfort is everything. And for the love of God, own it. I’m proud to say I’m in between a double D and an E … what what!

So thanks to Kim, I walked away from the experience with a plethora of bra knowledge … and a LOT of cute bras … that you can benefit from (not my bras … the tips). Ahem:

1. If you can pull the back of your bra out and stick your arm through it, and maybe another person, it’s too loose … and loose bras do nothing for us. Loose bras ride up your back … then your taas fall down. (I feel like someone should make a nursery rhyme about that … Loose bras ride UP … then your boobs fall DOWN … hmm I’ll work on that a bit more)

2. The back of the bra is most important. It should fit snug around the center of your back.

3. With that being said, and brace yourselves for this one, there is NOTHING we can do about back fat. I asked. A 9-year bra fitting expert told me this. We all have back fat. I do, the stick figure model does, my cat does. It’s time we own it. But posture is everything, remember that. #BackFatAcceptance2014

4. Pay attention to how you put on your bra. I’m guilty of flinging the thing on, throwing on my shirt and being done with it, too. Nope. Here’s how it goes down:
Step 1: Stick arms through straps
Step 2: Place underwire under taas
Step 3: Reach arms around your back and clip bra on*. Make sure to clip on the loosest hook.
Step 4: Adjust taas in bra. Pull underwire to the side to make sure they are sitting pretty.
*I know, I know, I’m all about the lazy girl’s style of clipping in the front, then shimmying around and putting arms through straps. But this is how the pros do it. Sheesh, now I feel bad for making fun of boys who couldn’t undo a bra. That shit is NOT easy.)

5. Bras are delicate, therefore do not wash them like you would a pair of blue jeans. Hand washing is the way to be, kids. Get a delicate soap, perhaps a bucket, then hang gently on a rack or one of these rad contraptions below. You pay good money for them, mine as well take care of them, right?-font-b-Suction-b-font-font-b-cup-b-font-mini-portable-travel-socks-fontSo there you have it! I’m wearing one of my new bras today, and I’m telling you, I’m very aware of my taas … in a good way of course. I’m walking taller, I feel confident … I mean, every woman deserves to feel like this every single day. I literally purchased a bra that is so pretty and fits so well that I almost don’t want to wear a shirt. I mean I will, but like, if I had the option, I probably wouldn’t. BUT I’ll do you all a favor and cloth myself properly.

With all of this being said I demand every one of you reading this to go take care of your taas! Go. Right now. I don’t care if you’re saving the world one spreadsheet at a time. GO. SHOO! SHOO!

Ps. I may or may not have found a strapless bra that I didn’t loathe … but out of principle I still hate its face.

Pss. BIG thanks to Kim over at Linda the Bra Lady! She’s amazing and fun and so adorable … go let her bra-ducate you and let her get up all in your bid-ness! And also a big thanks to Carla Marie over at the Elvis Duran and the Morning Show for coming with me on this excursion of taa TLC!


Holy SPANX! A Strapless Bra I DON’T Hate?!

pSPXNA-217_BLACK_packaging_e500Strapless bras and myself have become known arch-enemies. Tom vs. Jerry, Dr. Evil vs. Austin Powers. Kate vs. Strapless Bras. We just don’t like each other … well, more like I don’t like them and they don’t give a shit because they are inanimate objects. It’s quite unfair, if you ask me.

And since launching my blog years ago, people have asked me why I loathe the garment so much. Why would I go to such extremes as to naming a website dedicated to my pure hatred of them? Well … number 1, we aren’t all about strapless bras here at Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra (read my About section for further explanation), and number 2, it basically comes down to:

1. They cut off circulation, yet still manage to fall down

2. They do nothing for knockers … of any shape or size

3. They never fit properly under clothing. Like Never. Never ever.

This massive feud I have brewing in my life has a silver lining to it, though. This feud … has proven to me that there is still good and genuine kindness out there in a world when sometimes it is hard to believe that people still care about one another. Yet people surprise me every day by suggesting shiny and new strapless bras to try out that may heal my negative feeling towards them. And as much as I appreciate these kind gestures, they just never end up swaying my opinion.

But my lovely friends over at SPANX were not okay with me feeling like this. They wanted me to lock eyes with a strapless bra from across a field of poppies, slow motion run towards it,  embrace it with open arms, and swing around in a pleasant little circle with it.

Enter the SPANX’s Bra Cha-Cha stage right. First of all, I’m a sucker for a product with a fantastic name … and this little number is a sassy bitch in the best way. Second of all, they call it the “stay-put strapless,” which trust me, when I saw this, I gave it one of my epic eye rolls accompanied with a, “psshhyeeeaahh right!”

I won’t give you a play-by-play of my entire experience wearing this bra. You don’t want hear about how I walked to the train and it didn’t fall down, or how I went for cocktails with Bra Cha-Cha and it didn’t fall down even more … or as SPANX refers to it as “jug tug,” which honestly, I mean can we get a slow clap for that.

I will explain it to you like so. My experience with the Bra Cha-Cha was much like …



And this:


And that:


Oh and totes this:


Mmm hmm …:


And of course …:


But let’s not forget this happened:


Disclaimer: I will not be changing the name of my blog. And I still hate strapless bras … except this one.

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.