The Underwire Cage--How I Ditched the Bra and Embraced Freedom

I hate bras. Like, hate them. They are evil, sadistic breast restrainers invented by someone who obviously hated women and wished to see them suffer. Why they caught on as something we ladies would actually want to wear, I have no idea. Unless, of course, you're into torturing yourself. And, if you, are, that's cool. 

It's not my thing, though. 

The societal expectation here in the United States for women to wear bras is something I've butted heads with ever since I was first told I had to wear one.

Even as a Kid, I Craved Personal Freedom, Even if I Didn't Know the Name for It

Wearing a bra wasn't an issue until I actually started to develop them. I lived in a carefree world of running wild outside with my friends, riding bikes, playing by the creek banks, enjoying the local park, and doing more girly things, like playing with Barbies and collecting Smurf figurines. It was a happier, simpler time.

Sigh.

There wasn't much I couldn't do, and not much I was expected to do. I was given a lot of freedom, and lucky enough to grow up in a time when this was okay.

The Adult World Begins to Intrude (Bastards!)

Everything was cool until seventh grade. I was 12, and it was the first year we had to use a locker room and change clothes for P.E. class. I barely had any breasts then, but they were just starting to show. I always changed quickly, with my back turned to everyone, and often put one shirt on over the other one, then took the shirt below off through the sleeves of the top one. 

The female P.E. coach who oversaw the girls' locker room didn't think this was enough modesty. One day, she called me to her office and told me I needed to start wearing a bra.

It was the first time anyone ever said that to me. I was devastated. 

I didn't know why, but to me, it felt like she was saying, "It's time we started handcuffing you to your desk every day at school."

I barely kept from crying in front of her. When I told my mom what happened, she agreed that maybe it WAS time I started wearing a bra. I'd already had a friend's mom comment snidely on my lack of proper breast restraints, but didn't take it too seriously, because she'd always been bitchy toward me because my family wasn't a member of her ultra-right wing church. The comment from the coach at school carried far more weight with me, and with my family.

Getting That Bra Was Worse Than Getting My First Period, at Least Emotionally

I expected to get my period; it was something I knew was coming (and did, a year later). But, I never thought about having to wear a bra. The announcement I would need to get one was simply crushing to me.

My mother and great-aunt took me shopping for a training one. I went through trying on different ones bravely, not thinking I'd actually have to wear it. But then, when we found one that fit correctly, my mom and great-aunt wanted me to wear it home, and to keep it on for a while afterward, "to get used to it," they said.

I cried all the way home.

I sobbed hysterically once I was actually home, my knees drawn up under my chin, sitting forlornly in a hand-me-down rocking chair. My seemingly out-of-proportion emotional reaction to being told to wear a bra seemed to perplex the older women. Every time they would ask me what was wrong, I'd start to tell them I didn't want to wear the bra, but trying to actually say the words aloud just made me cry harder.

I felt like I was being put in chains. Part of my freedom was being taken away by being told I HAD to wear this thing. I think the adults thought I was crying because the bra hurt, or something. They definitely didn't grasp its more profound psychological implications for me. They'd been wearing those things their whole adult lives, after all, and were used to it. They knew society expected it, and didn't question it.

I was questioning everything, and I hated the P.E. coach who started this whole miserable scene.

If only they'd let me tell THEM when (and if) I was ready to wear a bra, rather than imposing it on me, it would have been SO different. After all, I'd recently started shaving my legs, something I did on a whim one night in the shower using one of my mom's razors, and kept up doing because I wanted to. I'd probably have had a similar emotional breakdown if I'd been told I HAD to. 

They didn't understand.

But, I was eventually able to get the words out through choked sobs, after crying my eyes dry for more than an hour. I told my mother I didn't want to wear a bra.

She let me take it off, and I calmed the heck down almost instantly. Taking it off felt like freedom.

It was decided I only had to wear a bra for P.E. I stuck one in my purse, changed into it in the bathroom before P.E. class, and took it off from under my clothes after class was over, tucking it into my purse once more.

For the time being, at least, the bra and I were able to maintain a shaky truce.

That Old Peer Pressure

I eventually started wearing a bra willingly, in high school. But, I only did it for two reasons:

1. I wanted more boys to notice me, so I wore a padded bra to make my "girls" look bigger.

2. I knew the other girls were wearing bras, and that high school was an environment where you could be ostracized for not conforming, so my desire to fit in took over my desire to not wear a bra.

After a couple of years of high school, I didn't need the padded bra anymore. I wore one to school every day. But, my relationship with it still remained shaky. We were "frenemies," the bra and I.

I only ever owned two at a time....a black one and a white one, so I would always have one that was invisible underneath whatever else I was wearing. And, I stripped it right off as soon as I left school grounds, often in my car, through the sleeve of my shirt, before pulling out of the parking lot to head home.

I wore one on dates, too, and for any occasion that called for more than casual dress.

I maintained the habit of getting that demon thing off of me as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Me Against Society, With the Bra as Our Battleground

I quit wearing bras again in college. It's a free atmosphere there, and no one cares what you do. I even went to class barefoot a few times, just because I could. Bras were reserved solely for formal occasions, where I knew having one on me would be noticed and expected, like weddings, funerals, baby showers, and baptisms.

I didn't wear a bra when I got married. The sun dress I wore didn't require one. 

I didn't wear one at any of the part-time jobs I had in grad school. As long as my midriff wasn't showing, no one at those on-campus jobs or substitute teaching jobs seemed to care.

With my skimpier tank tops, I bought some flower-shaped stick-ons for my nipples, just so they didn't poke through the fabric.

The World Outside College Expects a Bra: A Startling Revelation

As long as I remained in the world of academia, even when I taught elementary school and high school, no one seemed to care if I had on a bra or not. These were jobs where I could show up wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and it was fine. In fact, jeans and a t-shirt was and is my preferred uniform.

When I ventured out beyond that, it became a battle. The world outside of academics does not look kindly on women who don't conform by wearing a bra.

The first issue I had was when I got a job as an admissions counselor at a technical school. My second day there, I was wearing a tank top with nice dressy pants and a classy jacket. The tank top had one of those "built-in bra" things in it, which was really just a second layer of fabric over the "strategic" area. I thought I looked nice.

The supervisor of that department was an older lady who immediately noticed I wasn't wearing a traditional bra, and told me I needed to. I didn't take kindly to that at all. She told me just before my lunch break, and I didn't come back to work from it. I even wrote her a nasty letter about how I didn't appreciate her looking so closely at my boobs.

This was just the first of many times to come that I would fight with someone about whether or not I would wear a bra.

I never backed down. All it took was someone telling me I had to for me to never speak to them again.

"And Don't Tell Me What to Do, And Don't Tell Me What to Say"

Those words from the song, "You Don't Own Me" describe my general attitude about me and my personal freedom pretty well. Nowhere in my life have I had to go to war over it more than with the bra.

Besides the fact that I genuinely HATE wearing bras....they're uncomfortable and irritating....I don't like people telling me what I have to do. An excellent way to get me to NOT do something is to tell me I HAVE to. 

People out in the world at large seem so caught up on the necessity of women wearing bras that they are really prejudiced against those who choose not to. You can see the judgemental looks on their faces, even if they don't say anything to you.

If I'm given the choice of whether or not to wear a bra, I'm more likely to wear one. I know I look more "put together" if I'm wearing one. So, if left to my own devices, I will wear one when I need to look extra polished. As long as no one tells me to wear one, I'll probably do it for special events. But, if I'm told ahead of time that I must, I won't. 

It's that simple.

I'm pretty stubborn on a lot of issues, and will dig in my heels when anyone tries to tell me what I have to do. I am my own mistress, thank you very much. But, on no other issue have I been given so much crap by other people as on whether or not I'm wearing a bra. You'd think it was a matter of national security or something.

People are WEIRD about the bra issue.

Me and the Bra Today

I'm obviously not 12 years old anymore, and I don't work for anyone but me now, either. This means the crusade to go bra-less at work isn't an issue these days. No more hiding the fact I'm not wearing one under multiple layers or behind tasteful jackets. 

I'm my own boss, and I say going bra-less is a-okay. 

I still get those disapproving looks out in public sometimes, usually from older women when I'm in line at the post office, taking care of business at the city hall, or browsing the stacks at the library. I don't pay any attention to them anymore. It doesn't matter what they think, as it's not my job or desire to make them like what I'm wearing (or not wearing). As long as I'm happy, that's all that matters.

I still own two bras....one black and one white.

Conclusion--Bras and Their Larger Implications for Women in Modern Society

Recently, I went to a cousin's wedding, and chose to wear the black bra. When I went to put it on, I realized I didn't actually remember the last time I wore it. I struggled to get it on properly, and had to start over three times just to get the straps on smoothly and un-twisted. It seems when you go a long time without wearing a bra, you forget how to put one on!

What was the first thing I did when I got home? Take the bra off, of course.

(The actual bra I tried THREE TIMES to put on properly to go to my cousin's wedding)

Bras are one of the worst pieces of modern clothing invented for women, and I don't know where the expectation of them always wearing one in public originated. There's even some very good evidence that wearing them may be bad for your health. Our ancestors didn't wear them a century ago, so why should we?

Being told to wear a bra was like being imprisoned to me when I was a kid. Anyone who tells me to wear one today will get a curt, "Fuck you." But, if I CHOOSE to wear one, I have no resentment, even if I still hate wearing it. 

I understand now why burning bras was a symbol of women's liberation in the 1970's.  I've been doing it in a metaphorical way since I was twelve without even realizing it.

If you like bras, that's fine. I don't judge you for it. Don't judge me for not wearing them. It's all I ask.

To me, bras are not only uncomfortable, the expectation to wear them is symbolic of the subjugation of women in society. I will not be subjugated. 

Burn on, my 1970's sisters. Burn on.

I'm carrying on your tradition in my own way. Let's win this revolution!