When I was 21, at my first job out of college, my friend Sarah* and I would often escape the office humdrum with some lunchtime shopping at the local mall (model employees, we were). Just as any two broke girls in a Nordstrom dressing room would do, Sarah and I tried on outfit after outfit of items we could never afford.
I remember our first modeling session. Sarah was sporting an overpriced Marc Jacobs shirt and casually checked herself out in the mirror. And I, just a few feet away, not so casually checked out Sarah.
You see, Sarah had the biggest breasts I’d ever seen, by far. From what I could determine, she easily filled in a D cup bra. Compared to my own modest As, let alone the A or B cups of my other friends, Sarah’s boobs quite literally overshadowed ours. I was transfixed.
“Want to touch them?” Sarah asked as she caught my stare.
Guilty. And intrigued. I’d never touched another woman’s breasts, and I had to admit I was curious how they would feel. And so, very tentatively, I poked. That’s right. Poked. I had the moves, and evidently, fixation, of a 14-year-old boy.
Even before ogling Sarah’s ample cleavage, though, I have always had a healthy appreciation of the female body.
I love my boyfriend, I think he’s hot, blah blah blah, but there’s just something about a woman’s body that is truly beautiful. Alexandros of Antioch knew it, Helmut Newton knew it, even Sir Mixalot. I’m not condoning the objectification of women by any means, but I don’t see why we can’t enjoy and admire the female form.
Which, by the way, totally includes my sad little A cups. I admit, in my younger days, I longed for bigger breasts. I prayed, I exercised, I even chanted (“I must, I must, I must increase my bust!”). But now, I have come to terms, and even love what has been naturally given to me. And dare I say, there are even benefits to having smaller breasts. I mean, people always look me in the eyes. It’s great.
Still, variety is the spice of life. Like some days I feel like smoking a J. And some days I want unnaturally large boobies. What of it?
I’m not looking for a permanent fix, obviously. But even if I was, I refuse to go down the plastic surgery route. I have nothing personally against plastic surgery. It’s not the look of fake breasts that deters me but the needles, blood, and incisions it takes to achieve it.
Luckily for squeamish girls like me, the Internet provides plenty of cheap and noninvasive options; namely, silicone inserts.
I went with Original Looks silicone bra inserts, which can be found at your local Amazon.com store. All it took was one click, and my inserts were on their bouncy way.
I have since been wearing the inserts out and about for the past week, and the reactions have been varied.
“I didn’t notice. They look real.” – a friend that I haven’t seen for several months
“Oh man, boobs!” – my eloquent boyfriend
“You’re really nipply today.” – my sister
Perhaps the most surprising reaction has come from strangers. It appears that random guys and gals have not been lining up, as I imagined they would, to try to bone me. Then again, it might be the death stare I naturally exude.
It might also have to do with the type of shirt I chose to wear over my newly bodacious bod. Obviously, the tighter the top, the more boobalicious your breasts.
Needless to say, I wore a looser fitting, but low cut, outfit.
Even if I had chosen a skintight shirt, I honestly don’t think the inserts made THAT much of a difference.
Of course to hyper-self-conscious me, my boobs were huge. But, as I already mentioned, strangers basically ignored my enhanced cleavage. And my friends all claimed to not have noticed anything until I pointed it out to them. Literally, in my sister’s case.
While we’re on the subject of points, I have a pointer for you. If you do decide to wear inserts, I recommend you stuff them into an underwire bra. If you’re like me and normally wear a bralette or soft cup bra, stick an insert in there and take a couple of small hops. I’ll wait.
Oops, right? Because silicone inserts are made to look and feel like a real breast, the piece itself carries a substantial amount of weight to it. Without the support of an underwire, the insert easily plops out. All it takes is a couple of steps into your local bar until some drunk guy’s waving around your Jell-O Jiggler. I imagine that’s not exactly the kind of attention you want those babies to give you.
But worn as they’re intended to be worn, attention they will give you! Even if it is just from my boyfriend. What can I say? He loves boobs!
I admit I probably won’t be stuffing my bra very often since I’ve grown to be quite fond of my natural size. But after all this research, it’s nice to know that I have the option. And that I’ve now come full circle.
“Want to touch them?” I asked my staring friend after I had told her I was wearing inserts.
OK, so we were in the middle of a bar, not a Nordstrom dressing room. But still, I could see my friend’s curiosity get the best of her as she reached over and yep, poked my breast. And just like that, we were two 14-year-old boys, spending the rest of our night giggling, gawking, and displaying our very healthy appreciation of the female form.
How do you enhance your chest? Did you ever do the “I must, I must, I must increase my bust” chant?
*Sarah is obviously not her real name. It’s Helen. Just kidding, but my friend Helen** really does have huge boobs.
**Helen is not her real name.