I was getting ready for work one morning and slid my tank top on.
“No bra?” my girlfriend asked me.
I looked at her and said, “I’m fucking done with bras. My tits are small enough that I don’t need the support and the elastic in the chest strap is too damn tight. I’m only wearing them for special occasions and around my parents.” I mean, a bra feels like a medieval torture device. It’s like a vice that is slowly cutting you in half. It’s like a chastity belt for tits. It looks more like a piece of military equipment than an undergarment. Am I supposed to be protecting the girls from IEDs or something?
My boo asked me about people staring at my nipples and I told her I didn’t really care. Everyone has nipples. What’s the big deal? And if they wanna stare, let them. I’m glad I could make their day a little better. My girlfriend responded that she couldn’t set the girls free because the perception would be that she’s a floozy if she doesn’t wear a bra.
Real talk, my reader friend: what the fuck.
Before I transitioned, one transwoman that was helping me find the courage to be myself told me “Trans people are meant to be prophets. We call out gender double standards and expose hypocrisy in society around gender expectations.” Well, I definitely get what she was saying now.
I watch guys walk around at work all the time commando in basketball shorts. I know because I occasionally see a dreamy look on a gay coworker’s face in those moments. I used to ask why the dudes had glazed over and now I just know… they’re checking out the freeballing guy. I have never heard a single person call a man in basketball shorts with a massive dick bump a “floozy.” Ever.
But women without bras get slut shamed all the time.
The beautiful thing about shame is that, when people throw it at you, it plops on the ground like a turd. The key is to not pick it up. If you leave their attempt to shame you on the ground, it completely loses its power. Shame only has power if you give it power. Let the Victorian bitches scared of the human body have their hissy fits. I choose comfort over shame.