Answer To A Question Clearly Not Generated By The Female Population …

So since I have launched this blog, I’ve been getting a lot of fantastic feedback, comments and questions. And the most common question I have been receiving is, “Hey Kate, why DOES life suck in a strapless bra?” Now, mostly these questions have been asked by men because let’s be honest, I want to meet a girl who hasn’t had to wear one … and better yet … has worn one and enjoyed it. Because if so, you are a dirty liar my friend. So instead of me having to keep spurting out sentence fragments that include, “vice” “hell in bra form,” “uncomfortable torture device,” I decided, in the words of Jay-z, to take some time out to set the record straight for you.

Modern Day Torture Device: Now I know back in the day women used to crush their rib cages with ridiculously tight corsets to have that desired two-inch waist look, but the modern-day equivalent would be A. Spanks and B. Strapless Bras. There are all these myths, or truths depending on how you look at it and depending on where you buy bras, that you need to get it a size smaller … no no no … get it your EXACT bra size, no no no if you clasp it on the middle hook it will fit perfectly. It is different for every woman. Everyone has a dress they die for and really can only wear a strapless bra with. So we will shove ourselves into whatever works to pull off a look. We do it to ourselves, I realize it, guilty as charged. These bastards define the statement, “beauty hurts.”

The Strapless Bra Dance: If you have ever worn a strapless anything, you are guilty of doing this dance. Step 1: Taking your thumb and pointer finger to the outer sides of your bra, dress or shirt. Step 2: With your elbows out like you are about to do the chicken dance, you start moving you torso and chest area back and forth trying to shimmy your top up while clenching your teeth awkwardly. Step 3. Look down and make sure all appropriate body parts are covered and in their proper places, and glance to your left and to your right to make sure no one saw you do this. Step 4: Repeat in probably 5-10 minutes until it starts to look like an uncontrollable habit as the night goes on. There should be no shame, we effing have to do this so we don’t have a “Janet Jackson Super Bowl moment,” so mine as well make it look cool, right? During step 2, do a little Mick Jagger “rooster” move or something, you know, make it your own.

Fear the “Janet” Slip: We have to always be conscious of them, because they make us be conscious of them. They are clinging to our skin for dear life saying, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME WOMAN OTHERWISE I’LL DO IT … I’LL SLIP … I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL.” It isn’t like a normal bra that we can slap on and forget due to magical little saviors known as bra straps. No, we have to look alive 24/7, otherwise before you know it while you are breaking it down on the dance floor, having a glass of wine talking to a strapping young gentleman, driving in your car, or even talking to your boss … it happens. Slippage. A certain private something that rhymes with “ripple”, I will leave it at that, rears its ugly head and you are doomed. Doomed for being that girl, doomed for immediately realizing what just happened mid-convo, turning bright red, saying “OMG” and having to fumble to put it back in its strapless bra cage once again like I puppy that just tried to escape all the while wondering if the person you are conversing with saw. Try rebounding from THAT conversation … it is impossible. What were we just talking about?

Stage 5 Clinger: I’m personally a very independent person. Sometimes I like my space and can do my own thing without having to have someone hold my hand. So the fact that I have to strap this non-supportive, needy little biatch to my knockers just so I can rock a fabulous strapless dress is beyond annoying to me. I take care of it, I nurture it, I watch over it to make sure it is doing its job, for the love if I was the strapless bra’s boss I would have totally fired it by now. And do you know what I receive back? Hurtful indentation marks on my skin from it clinging on so hard and uncomfortable, sweaty pain . If it is too tight, which some are if you get a size smaller like some “experts” recommend, it can feel like your rib cage is being squeezed to death. Pleasant right? It is like the bra broke up with the straps and needs to cling to you as hard as possible in order to survive. Gross, leave me alone dammit.

Not, “Like a Glove”: Did I mention they NEVER fit properly? Bras were invented to give women a boast of confidence to make them look fierce and fabulous. What has a strapless bra every done for ANYONE? It either flattens you out, makes you sometimes look like you have four boobs if it cuts in a weird way or falls throughout the day, or there is this awkward gap between the actual cup and your skin. I mean it is a lose lose situation. I’ve tried to buy cute, fun and interesting strapless bras, you know the kind that can transform into 10001 different things, but they tend to not work even more than the normal boring ones. Hello, the gifts your mama gave you should be accentuated in an appropriate fashion, not just covered up in an uncomfortable vice.

Now I’m not a crazy feminist who is demanding we all burn out strapless bras right now to make a statement to the “men” who make us wear them. I am the first one to say we do it to ourselves for the sake of looking amazing. I respect that there are many fabulous strapless things out there that we deserve to rock. All I’m highlighting is the death that we put ourselves through in order to not look like a crazytown crack whore with our bra straps hanging out while we wear these strapless garments.

Now guys out there, all four of you who read this, I also respect the fact that sometimes, if you are sporty spice, you have to wear things like jock straps … which I can imagine to not be a slice of pie to deal with, right? So with that being said, I hope you all understand a bit better why life ACTUALLY does suck in a strapless bra. But we do it because fashion is fabulous. And hey, I’m an optimist, maybe one day I will find that golden garment that won’t slide down my back throughout the day, stab me, leave me breathless and make my boobs look as unattractive as possible.

Here is to hoping ladies!