My name is Kerri and I have big boobs.
Just saying that sentence with confidence and pride has taken me years.
But you’re so lucky to have big boobs, you might think. I’d kill to have a bigger chest, quit complaining.
No. Stop.
I’ve had enough.
I’m here to take a stand once and for all for all larger chested girls and women.
For starters, let’s get the basics out of the way. I’m 20-years-old and wear a size 34 HH. Yes, you read that right. My band size is amazingly average, but my cup size is so large, I can only shop for bras in one store in my region, which specifically caters to women like me.
Oh, boo hoo, you might think. That’s a small price to pay for the gift of big boobs.
Oh, so you think paying on average $70 per bra is a “small price” to pay? Yeah, honey, $70. American companies don’t make bras for women like me (small band, large cup), so all of mine are shipped in from Europe. That, plus the crappy euro or pound to dollar conversion rate thanks to the good ol’ jacked up economy, hikes up the cost.
Well, yeah, but you probably look really sexy!
Sure I do. But it took me forever to realize that my sexy was a good thing. Growing up and developing earlier than anyone else I knew (I was wearing a bra in 2nd grade, for the record), I was mocked for being different and bigger. And even before I hit puberty, I was sexualized by men. I can remember being in fifth grade and getting cat-called by older men.
Fifth. Fucking. Grade.
My large chest made me an object. I saw my breasts as something horrible, something that made me less of a person, that diminished my worth, because that’s what people did to me when they saw my large chest.
I hated my breasts.
Shopping as a young girl was a disaster. I can’t count how many times I ended up in tears in a changing room, my mom trying to convince me that I wasn’t a misshapen freak. I would wear super tight sports bras in an effort to make them smaller, or at least less obvious.
Add to this comments like the ones above and I felt stupid. Like I should like them. Like I was being selfish to not want them. People would laughingly say, “Well, can you give some to me?” and they had no idea how much I wanted to shout “Yes! Take them all!” because I was so done with all of the inner turmoil, deteriorated self-image and comments like the ones they just made.
It took years (and finally finding bras that fit properly) to realize that my chest is not inherently good or bad. To realize that my body is only a part of me and that it is an outer representation of my inner soul.
I’ve reclaimed my breasts. I like them, we get along. Sure, they get in my way when I’m doing yoga and make me want to punch things when shopping for bathing suits, but they’re a part of me. I’ve been told by strangers that I should get them reduced, but my doctors tell me that they are perfectly healthy.
My larger chest doesn’t make me more or less of a woman or a person. I determine my worth, and if I decide that my breasts add to that, it’s my decision. It’s not anyone else’s place to make comments on them, and if I decide to call them out on their insensitivity, it’s my right.
So stop making comments about my, or any other woman’s, boobs. One, it’s just plain rude. Two, you have no idea about the state of her self-image, and your comments could make things even worse. Three, respect boundaries, for Christ’s sake. Just because they’re there doesn’t mean you need to make a comment.
And finally, to anyone who’s ever asked me if they can “have some of my boobs,” once and for all, no.
