The Secret Is That I'm Easily Duped

I hate to buy bras.  Hate it.  For starters, I generally hate to wear them, but I am “of a size” and, after breastfeeding, “of a sag” that makes bra-wearing an unfortunate necessity.  But I’ve always found bras to be uncomfortable.  Some are more tolerable than others, but then I have to consider how it looks with a shirt over it.  I mean, I generally find sports bras to be okay, but they give me the weird uni-boob and look wrong under my semi-professional wardrobe for my semi-stupid job.

Also, they’re expensive.  Annoyingly expensive.  So when I buy one, I want it to last as long as possible.  I wash them as delicately as I would a baby bunny (I mean, I imagine) and hang them to dry.  Before yesterday, my regular, non-sports collection had consisted of two very old nude colored ones, plus a newer black one and red (ta-dow!) one.    The nude ones were looking pretty bad, both on me and off, and the final straw was a few days ago when I walked, fully clothed, into the living room and my husband said, “What’s wrong with your boobs?”

I checked  the mirror and saw that the failing foam shape and overall structure weakness was making it look like I’d strapped two shaved hedgehogs to my chest.  And the bras were becoming more uncomfortable each day. Okay, I surrender.

But here’s another thing I hate about buying bras: Where do I go? I used to go department store lingerie sections, but the department stores where I live are always low on staff and the selection overwhelms me.  Racks and racks (heh) of different brands and styles and price points and … ugh.  The brands fit differently, so you have to try on a couple of each to figure out what your size is and the next thing you know, three hours of your life have passed and you’re wandering though the housewares section begging a 22-year-old community college dude to ring up your new boulder holders.

So I hate myself for it a little, but I invariably end up at Victoria’s Secret.  My size stays pretty consistent across their styles and the whole miserable process, with the endless pictures taller-than-life sexyface models staring me down, takes less time.  There’s always a gaggle of 20-something community college ladies with gobs of eyeliner offering to help and digging through magic drawers to find your size.  I sneaked over during my lunch hour on Monday and found a couple on my own before I was approached by an Eyelinered One.  She breathlessly asked me if I’d tried an “INCREDIBLE BRA.”  Well, no! What does it do? Pick stocks? Make airy soufflés? Will I be able to do a standing back flip if I’m wearing it?  She told me I just had to try it.

I’m obviously a skeptic, so I tried on the two I’d picked out first.  One was okay – not great, but I could live with it if I had to.  The other was awful, torturous, hideous terribleness.  Fine.  Let’s take the INCREDIBLE for a test drive.

And oh … my goodness.  So. Much. Better.  Instant comfort with lots of padding around the pokey parts.  Good shape.  Lifts and separates.  Prayers answered (if I prayed).  Done! Sold!  I’d made a decision so quick that I was going to have time to sneak over to Sephora for a new eyeliner, which I suddenly felt I needed.  She’d given me a black INCREDIBLE BRA to try on while she hunted down the nude color in my size, so when I found her I handed back the black and told her to find me TWO nudes. While she did, I found a hot pink racer-back INCREDIBLE.  These babies were going to mean that I potentially could go years without buying another bra.  Mission accomplished, and with a hot pink bonus!

I took them home, washed them lovingly, and hung them to dry.  This morning I got dressed knowing that nice looking and comforted boobs were in store for me.  After I put it on, I marveled that even the straps on this bra that I hadn’t actually tried on at the store were just about perfect … just needed to be tightened a bit.  And that was when the universe started to snicker.

THE VICTORIA SECRET INCREDIBLE BRA HAS UN-ADJUSTABLE STRAPS!  GRRAARRGGGH!! How can this be?  No little metal thingy to adjust?  I hadn’t noticed in the store because I was trying on the black one, which I knew I wouldn’t buy.  To be fair, I only wanted to pull up the straps a couple of centimeters, but I CAN’T.  I looked on their website to see if I was missing something.  Was there a magic word?  A remote control?  No.  Apparently the VS people think this has “self-adjusting straps.”  They don’t explain this.  How can they “self-adjust” if they don’t adjust at all?  My allegedly anthropomorphic bra, that can’t make a soufflé worth a damn, is going to adjust itself?  I am not needed for this task?  Bitch, please.

I’ve been wearing the damn thing all day, and it’s not like the straps are slipping down.  They’re just a little looser than I like.  And it’s driving. Me. Crazy.

image via sewthankful.com