Don’t you love these click-baity “such and such will change your life” internet articles? All that over-promising and under-delivering. In this case my life actually changed.
You see, I’d rather drink a tuna milkshake every morning for the rest of my life than go bra shopping. I hate it. More than that, I hate bras. All of them. And before you ask, yes, I've been fitted by the lovely ladies in the department stores. I’ve been measured for the right size. I've tried whichever brand you're about to recommend to me.
I have a bra drawer bursting with racerbacks and frilly balconettes and moulded cups and even pieces of floss-like lace that dare call themselves a bra. I hate most of them. I tolerate some of them. I wear a few tired faithfuls in rotation. I even purchased some of those crop top magic bra things that come in an array of disgusting pastel colours that you see on the infomercials.
Bras are uncomfortable. They cut in and ride up and fall down. They suck. The underwire digs in, the straps don’t stay put, and the elastic gives me back boobs. Well that's the “pretty ones”, anyway - the ones that cost $80, which you pay because it feels comfortable enough in the changeroom, though by the end of the day you wish you could get a refund and spend $80 on Haigh's chocolate instead.
The “comfortable ones” are made out of granny-beige polyester with straps so thick you can rule out any sort of tank top. And don’t get me started on underwires. Underwires are the antichrist.
Out of sheer desperation, I visited Kmart’s lingerie department the other day. I was in store to stock up on more cheap homewares I definitely don't need, and wandered over to the smalls section.
That's when I saw it. A lovely looking bra with thin, adjustable straps, soft-moulded cups (with just enough padding to hide hard nips), and a chic colour range of white, black, nude or grey marle. Then, I saw the price tag. $9 bucks! I've paid more for a bag of lollies at the movies.
Conceding that it would probably be itchy or crap, I threw a black and grey in my basket anyway, figuring it as worth a try for the price and I didn't even need to brave the horrific overhead fluorescent lights in the changeroom -- I was happy to waste a few bucks if it didn't fit.
But it did. The bargain t-shirt bra from Kmart fit like a dream. The front is cut low enough to offer a nice bit of cleavage, and the moulded cups keep things nicely in place. I was able to don a delicate cami, the straps fine enough to hide. I felt supported (I am a D-cup, so yes, I know what good support feels like). I wore it all day from 5.30am until 9pm and not once fantasised about taking my bra off at my desk. I didn’t even unclip the back and whip it out through my sleeves the minute I walked in the door like I did with every other bra on every other evening.
The true test came when I was getting changed in front of my gay stylist friend last week. “Sexy bra dolls, love it!” he stated as he helped me shimmy into a dress. The fashion packs seal of approval, too? I’ll take 20.
Some might argue it’ll fall apart in a bit, but we will see. And for $9, who cares. Better it be worn out from overuse than hold real estate in my bra drawer with all its $120 friends.
And no, this isn't a sponsored post -- my boobs are just that happy.
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