Fake nicer tits or keep my own?

fake nicer tits

Ever since puberty washed over me I’ve had small breasts. My cup size has been both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because of its Charlotte Gainsbourg-esque flair and because I can borrow any of my friend’s plunging V-neck-one-night-stand-top and make it look sophisticated. A blessing because wearing a bra is  optional for me and that includes when I run, dance or do cartwheels. I can’t do a cartwheel to save my life.
 
But also a curse because whenever I am at a cool beach resort, instead of chilling by the sea and letting the waves and its emerging washboard abs carry my worries away, I am shamelessly ogling the bouncy cleavages of 16 year old girls with fascinated envy.
 
Truth is, for the past 15 years, every day, I’ve stood in front of the mirror, naked, and asked myself if I should get a breast augmentation. Also the fact that my nipples have been vigorously sucked at for a total of 3 years hasn’t quite helped. Not what you think. I meant my two kids.
 
It’s been a profound dilemma because on the one hand I love my body and love my Nouvelle Vague, mysteriously seductive, poetically melancholic woman-artist breasts. I also love how they inherently rebel against all things cheesy such as spring break wet T-shirt contests and game show models slathered on prize cars.
 
Yet on the other hand I am curious to know what it feels like to have a real pair of meaty unapologetic boobs that last longer than pregnancy and breastfeeding and that you can stuff and strap into clothes, slap if they misbehave and, if I push my fantasy further, that you can sandwich your man’s head with.
 
Many of my family and friends have had to endure these fantasies of mine. Because of my longing to have real breasts I’ve curiously peeked at and fondled many pairs so far, including both my grandmothers’ who, bless their hearts, found it adorably humorous. Despite that I’d been doing it still in my early 30s.
 
Although my questioning is still not appeased, I feel that, for now, keeping my tits is a female-empowered statement. A self-lovingly, philogynist howl that reverberates to girls across the planet in an age where the likes of Kim K., music videos, cruel photo shopping and celebrity worship tell them they are not worthy or beautiful enough.

That being said, I wouldn’t put it past me to have an epiphany in the near future, switch my perspective and feel that getting a breast augmentation is  female-empowered action.
 
I am all for making our souls, minds, bodies and faces more beautiful. But where do we draw the line between self-improvement and the erasing of our true self?
 
Why is it that we can’t celebrate some of our “imperfections” simply as traits that make us unique versus a sheep within the flock?
 
Look at yourself with love and tell me what “imperfection” in your appearance actually gives you character, style and uniqueness?

Now, how can you celebrate it every day?
  
Share in the comments below. I’d love to know and celebrate with you.
 
 With love,
 


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