Yesterday on my drive home from work I was listening to the ’90s radio station in my car and I heard this song by Sophie B. Hawkins, “Damn I wish I was your lover.” Ahh, I still love it! Kids of the 80s- 90s, do you feel me?
I never saw the video as a kid, and sidenote here: What’s up with that diaper-ish thing she’s wearing?
What I do remember this song from is Baywatch, which was totally one of my favorite shows. I think they used the song in some beachy montage one time and so that’s my main association with this little ditty.
So I was in the car and I started thinking about Baywatch and how it is kind of odd that that was one of my favorite shows as a little girl and I just went off on this random thought process about why and it dawned on me pretty quickly: the boobs. And Hobie. But I think it was more about the boobs. Those big boobs on pretty girls. I wanted to be like that when I grew up so bad! A pretty girl that was stacked. Yep… that was one of my childhood dreams.
I wanted boobs SO BAD when I was a kid, and I never felt like I was going to get them. My mom has a very small chest and I felt like boobage just wasn’t in my genes. Not possible. And I waited and hoped, but by high school it was pretty clear that the boobie thing was not happening. I wasn’t actually flat chested, but I dreamed of numbers like “34” and letters like “D”… I dreamed and I dreamed, but I always felt like it was hopeless, just not in the stars for this girl.
In childhood, high school and even college I also felt like I didn’t measure up to the likes of the Baywatch ladies in another way: I thought I was not very cute, not so good looking, or that I had my moments, but I had to try a lot whereas all of my pretty friends were just naturally beautiful and they let me tag along. I think most girls, if not all girls, go through this at some point or for some period, so I know this isn’t some startling revelation. In those moments in the car listening to Sophie B. I started to think about how I compared myself to those Baywatch babes and I also started thinking about going through my old high school and early college photos a few weeks ago. I was thumbing through my big box of pix when I realized something for the first time… I looked at these photos from my glory days and it hit me: I was cute. I was never ugly. I was never THAT awkward. I was a cute girl and I was totally trippin to think that I wasn’t. My thinking, like so many girls, was warped, and I started to feel sort of bothered by that because this warped thinking kind of held me back a lot of times. It lead to me acting awkward, because I felt awkward, and it lead to me being jealous of friends at times, because I felt like they were so much prettier than me. What fucking a waste. I’m glad I’m past that and I can see the truth about myself and my looks, I thought then.
But wait a minute… maybe I wasn’t totally past it. I had an experience about a month before that that proved to me I don’t know what I don’t know, (I think that makes sense…? Stay with me here).
It happened when I went bra shopping. I avoided the experience for a long time because it just felt like a pain in the ass. My bras hadn’t been fitting for a while and I couldn’t figure out why and I was still not happy with what felt like an inadequate chest, so why spend money on it by buying a bra? But I had to do it. I went to Vickie’s and started looking around. I was browsing in a “36 A” drawer when one of the sales ladies came up to me, “Can I help you? Have you ever had a fitting? Would you like one?” Hmmmm, I’ve heard of these fittings, and I have actually always wanted one, just to see what they would say. I wonder if I’m really an “A” or a “B” cup… don’t know. She seemed not-so-intimidating so I went for it.
“Ok,” she announced, “You’re a 34 D.”
Come again!?!! “What? That doesn’t even seem possible!” I seriously challenged her on it, because I was totally in shock. She told me that most women don’t know what size bra they should be wearing, and it’s all about the size of the cups and this and that, and then she put a box full of 34 D’s in my dressing room and low and behold, they actually fit. And then she said she noticed me looking at 36 A bras and she totally laughed at me for it.
*Disclaimer here: I know Vickie’s bras run a little small… And you are probably a size smaller in bras by other manufacturers. I know this, but I don’t care! This was a life-long dream come true! A crazy moment I never thought would happen! I bought two bras that say 34 D, and they fit, and no one can take that away from me. (Serious tone here: Don’t ever mention that their bras run small again, ‘aight?). And I’m gonna keep bra shopping there because I like the way that shit feels. 😉
So yes, at 29 years old I realized I STILL see my body differently from the way it actually is. It’s weird, because I don’t consider myself one of those girls who thinks she’s fat, but wears a size 4, or whatever. Basically, I consider myself someone with a grip, but this boobie thing proved that I was wrong; I was stuck in this thought pattern I’d had since childhood and it took a stranger to break me out of it. And even though it’s just a number, and my cups still don’t runnith over, and I have the same body I had before this lady did her magic measurements, I still felt stoked. This truly arbitrary number has built some of my confidence, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that! You gotta take the wins wherever you can.
So it’s weird, how we get stuck thinking things are true about ourselves… I thought I was just not cute and practically flat chested; I couldn’t see my physical self for what it actually is, and I let that affect how I acted, which is really where trouble lurks. What’s the message here? I think it’s not to let your own thoughts get in the way of what could be true. Don’t box yourself in, physically, emotionally, or mentally. You might just have big boobs too. 😉