Brassieres - Let's burn em'

I know it was a woman who invented the modern day bra, but I swear she must have been under duress or in fear of her life, or a bitter cranky old woman with a grudge to bear. No woman would truly think it a good idea to place other women in garments equal to those found in bondage, and call it style.Its predecessors found in ancient Rome and Greece, were meant to confine a woman's bust, not enhance it. 

No where  in history will the stories tell us that Mary Phelps Jacobs was really a cross dressing man, or perhaps an uptight spinster determined to punish all those women she saw as younger and prettier than she. Instead, they say she was a 19 year old New York Socialite who designed the first bra in the United States and had it patented in 1913 (She was later to be known for Warner Bras).  They will spin the truth to say it was a fashion statement, meant to enhance the figure of women. It was about giving a woman's bust the appearance of perky youth. I don't buy it!

I say.....if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, its a duck, or in this case a medieval torture device, created to restrict the movement and reinforce the submissive desired nature in women, masked in pretty lace and soft colors to fool us all. I hate my bra. That's right , I hate it. I hate the confinement, and the restrictive nature. I hate the discomfort of the straps which are either always falling down or too tight. I hate the struggle of finding the right fit. I hate it when the under-wires pop through the material and poke my rib cage in the middle of the day and when I pull the broken wire out I appear lopsided and deformed. 

In my younger, thinner days, its true, they could be a fashion statement, or part of my lingerie wardrobe. They used to be pretty and delicate and served to entice the attention and imagination of my beloved. But today, they are simply utilitarian and a part of my morning routine I resent and detest. Pretty or plain, I grumble all the way.

I wear my bra for one purpose only, because society says I have to.  However, when I am done with my public persona each day, as I embrace my personal time, I cant escape quick enough. Sometimes its one arm at a time on the drive home, depending on what I'm wearing and rather or not it is a hazard to remove in action. Sometimes its the moment I walk in the door at home. Either way, the girls are set free to frolic in the sun and run free at least for a while every day.  On the weekend, as long as I have no appearances to make of a formal nature, I embrace the freedom and comfort of  a good camisole or tank top and a loose sweater or blouse. No bondage required.

Bottom line, they will be what they will be, sit where they want, and either stand proud or take a rest, its all up to me, and I am most comfortable without the elastic that binds. I could take a page from the myth of the 60's that portrayed Women's Lib loyalist as bra burning lunatics in protest of a Miss America Pageant, but the feminist movement and history has shown it was a symbolic story only. There are days I would love to burn my bra, but knowing how expensive they are to replace, and that I would indeed, have to replace them, I stay my hand, and opt for simply taking it off when ever I can do so without scandal.

Fashion, or fancy, prim and proper, or rebel, its my choice and I submit only as necessary, kicking and screaming.