Why I Took Them Off

Don’t get excited, this is not that kind of post.

I didn’t realize that I was a feminist until well into my 20s. Back then I thought of feminism as a movement during which women burned their bras and helped working women get ahead (think Sally Field as Norma Rae). I was raised by a feminist, so the idea of equality was just natural to me. Both of my parents worked - my dad did dishes and my mom captured snakes and put them back in the woods, so in my naivete I thought that’s the way most people saw the world. Sure, my dad would open jars, but he was bigger and stronger - it was about body mass, not gender. There were certainly some double-standards between my brothers and I, but overall my view of the world (thank you, Mom!) was that I had equal opportunity as a female and that my thoughts were just as important.

Then, the real world hit. Then, religion entered the game (that journey is for another post). I struggled to reconcile these worlds while still a very young (and terrified) new mother. I did the best that I could believing that I could be all things, but in the end, my desire for equality won out over all other opinions and expectations. In my late 20s I realized, with glee, that I was a feminist. I was not, however, the feminist idea of my youth. I was a real feminist, which simply means that people of all genders should be treated with equality - and yes, women were marginalized and objectified and on the receiving end of many horrible things across the world and throughout history. However, this is not that kind of post either.

The bottom line is that every person should be what and who they want to be. There are no rules, parameters or obligations. Specifically for women, you can be whatever you want to be. Painted nails, high heels, makeup, muscles, pants, tutus, dresses, ties, top hats, shaved heads, armpit hair - none of it matters and none of the things that we choose for our bodies makes us anything. They are simply things we do, not who we are. Which leads to the photo above.

When I realized that I was experiencing great discomfort every day in the effort to be “attractive” “cute” “stylish” “curvy,” I made the decision to stop doing anything that made me uncomfortable. So into the trash went every padded bra with underwire. (Have you worn one of these? How is the wire digging into your ribs tolerable?!?! Why did I do it???) I also greatly reduced the time I spent in heels, because running fast and having ankle mobility and a lack of foot pain is so much more important than how my calves look in a skirt. F*ck that. That doesn’t mean that I won’t put these things on for 5 minutes for specific purposes that suit me (wink, wink), but it’s now a choice because I want to, not because I think I should.  

There’s no reason for pain and discomfort simply to fit a mold that society expects. There’s no reason not to be joyful doing whatever we want to and with our bodies...if it’s what we want.

So, who’s up for a bra burning? ;)