Scribbled hastily in my William Morris pocket purse notebook, 11:14 this morning:
Well, you can knock me over with a feather right now, I am so stunned. Stunned! (I just attempted to record this as an audio post, but I’m so floored I can’t talk. I got the words all jumbled.) If any information about my lingerie would be TMI [Too Much Information] for you, you’d better stop reading right now.
An hour ago I went to Nordstrom for a bra fitting. I’ve always wanted to get fitted, but never bothered to do it. But today Wacoal and Nordstrom are doing free fittings to benefit the Susan G Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, so I figured it’d be a good time.
I entered Nordstrom and went upstairs to Lingerie, where the fitter led me to a dressing room.
“What size do you wear now?” she asked as she deftly passed a tape measure under my breasts.
“38C,” I replied.
“Ohhh yeah,” she responded, glancing at the measure, “way too big. You should be in a 34, probably a D cup.”
Obviously the ramifications of this pronouncement are quite a bit easier to handle, but the shock was as great as if you’d just told me I was adopted. Or heir to a huge fortune. It was just something that never entered into my head even in my wildest imaginings. It rather surprises me that my bra size should be so ingrained in my identity — isn’t it just an objective measurement? — but apparently it is. I guess one doesn’t go through years of wearing a 38C without somehow adapting oneself to a 38C personality, whatever that means.
And now that it transpires I’m actually a 34D, I can’t wrap my head around it. I haven’t worn a 34 in ages, probably ever since I started wearing a bra. Very soon after that I moved on to a 36, and by the time I changed to a 38 (in college) I’d long decided that 34s were for skinny girls. From a preteen who desperately hated having to wear a bra, to a young woman grown comfortable with being a size 38 and a C cup, I’ve had to change my perceptions of what my breasts mean to me… and now I have to change again, only this time it’s not gradual.
I’m so weirded out.
And no, it’s not a ploy on the part of Wacoal and Nordstrom to sell more bras; the 34- (Wacoal) and 36- (DKNY) Ds the fitter brought out really do fit me better. I’d never have believed it.
I walked through the Grove, the parking lot, and Trader Joe’s after my traumatic fitting all stunned and unable to process anything. After trying on the bras in my true size, I could feel that my current bra, my favorite in what I’d long thought of as my proper size, wasn’t as comfortable. It even made me feel self-conscious, like everyone was looking at me and wondering why I was wearing the wrong size bra. I almost wanted to cross my arms across my chest just to hide it. I’m telling you, I’m so surprised that this is such a major deal for me, but it’s totally turned my world around (at least for today).
As soon as I got home, I took out my new bra (I bought an inexpensive black one to start with) and put it on, and it’s just amazing how much better it feels. It’s not a great bra, the straps are a bit itchy and it shows through my clothes, but it fits so well. Years ago, when I realized how much more comfortable higher-end bras are, I started buying those exclusively, and I figured that the small adjustments and pokings and proddings were just the way bras had to feel. But now that I’m wearing a different size, this bra really is even more comfortable than not wearing one (which is what they always tell you a bra should feel like). It feels infinite worlds better than any other bra I’ve ever worn, and it’s not even a good one.
I’m quite disturbed because after my coat shopping trip I had to vow not to spend any more money on clothes this month, but now I’m afraid I have to go back on my word. After wearing the right size I can’t go back to wearing the wrong one, but I can’t get through the month with only a black lace bra, so I think I’m going to have to completely rebuild my bra wardrobe. After my fitting I called Jackie and persuaded her to have one too, so she’s going to come over this afternoon after class and we’ll return to the Grove, and I will start rebuilding my collection while she’s being fitted. Eep. I really thought I could make it this month without doing any more shopping, but I don’t think I can compromise on this one. At the very least, I’m going to have to get a basic nude seamless that I can wear under everything.
[This post was imported on 4/10/14 from my old blog at satsumabug.livejournal.com.]