So, I Did a Thing

An UpLIFTing Blog Post on Bra Fittings and Motherhood

When I was in middle school I purchased a completely inappropriate red padded push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret.

I loved that damn thing.

This red bra didn’t see the light of day by anyone other than myself and my horrified mother every time she unloaded the dryer. If any middle school boys were glancing at my smothers brothers lovingly ensconced in a slightly too-big bra, it was purely on account of fact that I was 5’6 by the end of 6th grade. There was simply nowhere else for them to look.

But man did I feel like a woman.

Eventually pretty bras and matching sets went into the category of “impractical.” Sexy, plunge, and padding were replaced by wireless, foam, and comfort.

But I wasn’t comfortable. Not in the least. And I certainly wasn’t feeling myself.

Recently I bit the bullet and went to a local lingerie boutique to get (wo)man handled for an hour in a proper private fitting. (This was no Victoria’s Secret where a college-aged girl was going to whip out a measuring tape, falter around my fun bags and sell me the latest dream angels demi-bra.) Truthfully I was not looking forward to this experience. I mean I was just replacing my overworked, ill-fitting nude t-shirt bra for a new one, right?

Wrong.

My fitter at SOL, Skye, took one look at me, felt my ribcage, said an incantation to summon the spirit of mother Stevie Nicks 3 times, left the room, and pulled the correct size on the FIRST TRY. No measuring tape in sight. I was immediately uncomfortable in the first bra she put on…because I wasn’t used to wearing a proper fitted bra. Where I thought I had a wide ribcage and therefore kept moving up band sizes, it was actually an issue of not having a small enough band size. (A friend of mine who runs a lingerie boutique in Philly called Je Suis Jolie said that one of the most common issues is people wearing the wrong band size).

Then she told me to trust her and returned with a lace, unlined bra.

As Destiny’s Child once harmonized on their debut album, “No, no, no, no, no” that is not what I signed up for. I’m not in Sex and the City or god forbid, And Just Like That, I can’t waste time on frilly little things. I don’t have TIME for frills or lace or whatever hot French women wear. I’m a mom. I need practical. Nude. Sturdy. Nude. DID I MENTION VOID OF COLOR.

But, what if pretty could also be practical? What if lace didn’t have to be itchy because it’s quality European lace? What if comfort looked like an unlined plunge bra? What if it wasn’t an either or deal?

From there it was off to the races. Each bra a work of art. A chance to put on something beautiful and squeal with my fitter over it. Hell, throw in the matching underpants (I cannot bring myself to write panties). There wasn’t a single miss. I left the store and didn’t realize till I was home that I had left my old bra in the fitting room. (To be clear, I left with a new bra on.)

I realize part of it is that I’m transitioning into a new phase of motherhood. Gone are the days of bottles, diapers (although not nighttime pull-ups), stretchy pants I could bend down in without an attack of the crack, binders that contained my weakened muscles from repeat C-sections and surgeries, and a rapidly changing body. I can wear a necklace without fear it’ll be yanked from my neck. A white shirt with only a 33% chance of sticky hands pawing at me. I am practically invincible! I knew this version of motherhood existed, I just couldn’t see it through the haze of sleepless nights in too tight sports bras with cabbage on my nipples (currently the only way to dry up your milk in the US I kid you not).

---

When Susie Myerson tells Midge Maisel, “Tits up” before she goes on stage, it’s a way to hype her up and get her focused because, let’s be honest, she always had on a well-fitting bra. I think it’s also meant to remind her of the power of her femininity, especially in a male-dominated field. That she doesn’t need to shrink, she needs to expand. Take up space. Tits up.

I went in expecting to get a nude t-shirt bra and maybe a plunge bra in a sensible color if I was feeling wild. I left with matching sets, sumptuous lace, intricate details, and yes, a t-shirt bra. BUT ONE THAT FITS. I reclaimed the part of me that has always been feminine and drawn to beautiful things. The 19-year-old that bought an impractical fascinator from Urban Outfitters on Newbury Street in college, traipsing around town in it and my bright blue trench coat. I will never forget the day I passed a man experiencing homelessness who called out with a smile on his face, “Look at her, wearing a fancy hat and she don’t care!” I used to be a person that didn’t care. That pushed the limits. That experimented. She got a little lost along the way, but I’m rediscovering her again through this new stage of motherhood.

Tits up, friends.

-Meredith