The 32A Story: A is for Awesome!

Anna Nguyen / New University

If my boobs could talk, they would probably say many things. For one, they would probably tell me how much they hated being surrounded by the padding from my high school prom dress. They would probably tell me how uncomfortable it is when popcorn gets stuck down there during a movie. They would probably scream how much they hate Victoria’s Secret because they feel that the saleswomen laugh at them. But most of all, I think they would tell me how hurt they’ve felt that I disliked them for so long, because after all, they probably have feelings too.

I never really noticed my chest until junior high when all the girls were forced to change in the girls’ locker room before our hour of physical education class. I had always been a short and slender kid growing up, and had yet to develop any figure to my body. Being surrounded by girls blossoming into adolescence was enough to make any girl question when it was her turn. So I kept waiting for the big day when my chest would grow in a big way. Needless to say, P.E. wasn’t exactly the best time in my life.

When it came to my prom, I couldn’t have been more excited. I was going with a guy I really liked and was wearing the most beautiful beaded sky-blue dress. It was strapless with a low back and tapered hem line that left room for my silver strappy heels to be visible from underneath. After a fitting for the dress, the seamstress came over to me with two padding inserts, insisting that it would help the top fill out. I remember thinking of the movie “Miss Congeniality” in that moment, having to stomach the urge to comment, “I hope those are candy dishes!” At this point, I was still waiting for that big day to arrive.

Because of my lack of development, I became a hater against any and all Victoria’s Secret products. I hated the underwear, the thongs, the socks, the clothes and most of all, the pushy sales women always running after me with a measuring tape. When walking in the store, I always keep my eyes looking down, because eye contact makes the saleswoman latch on quicker. Without much delay, I always find myself rifling through the top drawer. Luckily for me, I am always given lots of variety throughout the store. Because my chest size is measured to be 32A, about 18 bras fit in one drawer, while about six 32C bras fit in their drawer. Grabbing the first bra that I see, I practically run into the dressing room, knocking over displays or people if they accidentally get tangled up in my mad dash. Then comes the best part: the pushing of the saleswoman to fit you. With measuring tape in hand and a selection of every single bra in the store picked out for you, the waiting room attendant greets me, ready to change my life with just the right bra.

“You should let me check your size in case you have changed!” says the attendant with a sweet smile. Though they are always so nice in the store, I always feel like yelling, “I think if I grew out of a 32A, I would know!” But instead I usually just insist that I don’t need help and then purchase any items as quickly as possible. Every time I leave the store, I vow never to return into it again, to avoid the lace, feathers, colors and padding of the privileged upper-cups.

To be honest, I disliked the way my body curves were disproportional for a long time. I wanted to fill out the top of a dress like the other girls in my class. I wanted to have curves both on the top and on the bottom, and I wanted them to change because I had no cleavage like the girls in magazine advertisements. By focusing on the flaws of my body, I lost my appreciation for myself as a whole because of my obsession over a small detail.

Since coming to college, I have realized that in order to love myself, I have to love all of myself, being proud of both the good things and the things that have made me self-conscious in the past. Though sometimes I still eye curvaceous women with envy, I wouldn’t change my small chest anymore because it is a part of me. Though I may not be running into Victoria’s Secret yelling, “Small boobs rock!”, when I go in now to open a drawer of bras on the floor, I see 32A as 32 Awesome.