My love-hate relationship with going braless as a B-cup

“For such a small piece of fabric, it carries a lot of weight.”

I first started wearing a bra long before I actually needed to. It was around the age of 11 and all my friends had started wearing one. It was far more about feeling grown up than it was about needing actual support.

As I grew older, I invested money from my casual job in cheap push-up bras with underwire that would dig in and leave indentations on my skin. Cleavage was something I aspired to and I looked at my friends with big busts, full of envy.

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I felt unfeminine and unsexy. As though being flat-chested wasn’t ‘womanly’. I measured myself by the attention men would hand out and I was scared of getting naked with someone, only for them to be disappointed.

By the time I reached my early twenties, I’d backflipped. The friends I knew with D-cups would talk about back pain, the frustration in not finding clothing that would fit and the unwanted attention of men leering at their chest. I counted my blessings – I never had to worry about clothing not fitting me and back pain from the weight of carrying big boobs was a foreign concept.

I resent the idea of women’s bodies being part of the trend cycle, but it felt as though small boobs suddenly became fashionable again. Freeing the nipple became a feminist movement, a way to rebel against the censorship and sexualisation of women’s bodies. Suddenly, the idea of being flat-chested felt ownable.

I’d already tossed out my padded push-up bras in favour of bralettes, but soon enough I decided to forgo bras altogether. I didn’t really need them, so why bother? I was only really wearing them to be appealing to men.

But inevitably, I backflipped again. I remember seeing Florence Pugh’s Valentino look a couple of years ago and feeling torn. Part of me almost beamed with pride at seeing her step out in that sheer, pink dress and part of me struggled to block out all the criticism that was levelled at her for daring to wear it.

Florence was hyper-sexualised for showing her breasts and posting pictures of the look online. But she was also targeted for how they looked. Strangers commented they were ‘disappointed’ and that she should be ‘embarrassed’ for being so flat-chested.

It galvanised a new insecurity. I’d already started to become hyperaware of the shape of my boobs and this felt like proof that I should be ashamed. That, despite whatever social progress had been made, people were still looking – and judging. Call it pedantic, but it was hard not to feel like somehow, I still hadn’t quite nailed the brief. Sure, I had a relatively flat chest, but they still should’ve been perky. They needed to hang (for lack of a better word) in the right way. Mine felt like two, nondescript bumps.

Shortly after, Florence addressed the criticism. “What’s been interesting to watch and witness is just how easy it is for men to totally destroy a woman’s body, publicly, proudly, for everyone to see,” she wrote. “Why are you so scared of breasts?”

Her rebuttal was strong, fierce and completely unapologetic – but it was hard for me to feel as defiant as she was. I became hyper-aware after that, wearing a bralette whenever I felt like the top I was wearing might be too sheer or too tight and reveal the true shape of my boobs. It was less about physical comfort and more about how I was being percieved.

Finding comfort in your body is not necessarily something you achieve and then you’re set for life. It’s a constant. You have to continuously resist the relentless pursuit of perfection. As a thin, white-passing person, it’s important to recognise the privilege I have. But at the same time, it’s hard not to feel the tug towards beauty standards. Small boobs might be fine one day – but the next they’re not.

And there’s still no quick fix. I can’t quite shake the notion that being braless needs to feel like I’m taking a stand, or making a statement. Sure, there are plenty of statements to be made about it. But sometimes it’s just about comfort. I wish that no matter how they looked, they weren’t a focal point; something people’s eyes would be drawn to.

When I’m at home, or having a wine at a friend’s place, I don’t usually wear a bra. But it’s the times when I feel like my body is on display, in public spaces, when I feel like I have to cover up. For such a small piece of fabric, it carries a lot of weight.

For more about going braless, head here.