Confessions of a qualified body consultant* – Rebecca Patena

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer

LindaBraFitter1The most magnificent breasts I have ever seen were in 1995. They belonged to a woman who was probably my age at the time. Her features have faded but the moment she revealed her breasts to me has not. Her measurements were either a 10E or possibly a 12DD according to the tape measure, soft, firm and real. Without inhibition or shame, a woman proudly baring her nakedness in a way that was disarming and beautiful and all too rare in the intimate apparel department of Myer Northland.

Behind those heavy curtains, most stories were told without words. Eyes and mirrors revealed stretch marks, scars, inverted nipples, hairy armpits, shrunken necks, papery skin, pimpled backs, swollen stomachs, bulging veins, downcast eyes, tight mouths. Scents of talcum powder traces, faded perfume and stale sweat hung in the air. A soundscape of whispered confessions, airy chatter, soft groans and throaty laughter.

A first bra fitting appointment stood before me, arms hugging her chest, eyes darting nervously around the dimly lit cubicle. Milky flesh covered in goose pimples. A fine down on her arms stood to attention. Alert, alarmed, uncomfortable. Her mother stationed protectively beside her.

“We’ve got big boobs in the family. She’s in grade 6 this year.”

This golden haired child of 11, pig tailed with dimpled cheeks, had to cart around mammary glands that were bigger than her head. A full cup size difference between each one, a G cup and an H cup, a weight borne by tiny size 8 back. Breasts that could only be trussed up into an apricot, lacy, point and shoot number. Bras like that were that were usually sold to post menopausal women who had deep grooves worn into their shoulders. Women who had weekly appointments with their chiro or physio to attend to aches and pains suffered from carrying around the load of a lifetime. Her Mum told me that the family had almost saved up enough for surgery but her daughter was still too young and had not stopped growing yet.

Another invitation to check a fitting for a woman who was in a hurry. Her husband was being kept waiting, and prowled around outside, being kept at bay by the change room gate keeper. Having breast fed all of her four children she was getting herself something sexy. She said she was blessed with good genes. She wanted a balconette bra that my experience did not accomodate a generous bust that may not have been as firm as it once was. I doubled it would contain her bountiful cups when she told me her size. Yet it did. I was confused. The story of her breasts did not match up with the one she had told me. These breasts did not drop gently when her bra came away, there was no yeidling of that taunt flesh with the usual wiggling and jiggling. Her purple nipples pointed out at odd angles and I was puzzled by the ridge at the top of her breast where it met her chest.

I realised later that it wasn’t good genes that gave her those tits, but cash, a scalpel, silicon implants and a mediocre surgeon.

I recently heard the familiar refrains and the intimate apparel ladies when I was recently looking for something fitting for my F’s that had long ago graduated from my first C fitting.

“How how you going in there?”

“Now there Darl, see how you are spilling over the top there. You need to go up a cup size.”

“Bend over, I’m just going to give you a little jiggle so you are sitting right in the cup. ..Ok, you do it, take your hand, scoop up your boob and drop it in.”

“Now you need a bit more room, you’ve got another 3 months and then things might change again when your milk comes in”

“When was your surgery Love. ..I can see that’s a bit tender..”

“No sweetie, you can’t see your nipples. Get the nude, white will show under that top”

And woven in between all these fittings was the life chat, the wedding, the 3rd baby, the prolapse, the celebrity bastard son-in-law, the sales, the bullshit, the stuff of life.

I love women and their breasts. My preference is for natural, they tell the best stories and a bra fitter can work her magic if needed.

*as stated in my Berlei Bra fitting course certificate.

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