Tits out for PULP

Big tits are awesome until you’re the person who has them.

Image Credit: Mary Kountouris

Big tits are awesome until you’re the person who has them. So fun to look at, talk about, hold. But when these two (very much politicised) lumps of flesh, designed to feed an army of crotch goblins, are attached to your own body, everyone has an opinion.

It never occurred to me that other people had noticed how big and fast my boobs had grown until I was at a hotel pool with friends in Year 9. Adorning my mother’s black and white tie-up one-piece — that I had taken from her cupboard without permission — I was excited to show off my grown-up body to the other 14 year olds, with its ever so slight curve and shiny new womanly features on display. This one girl looked me up and down, and told my best friend to dunk his head under water so he would not hear her ask, “What are those on your chest? Are you ok? You should cover that up, Kate.” She was referring to the dark pink stretch marks that shone against my pale (overnight delivery) right boob. For context, I should note that the right one was at least four sizes bigger than the left, always. I was mortified. I felt disgusted with myself, as though I had done something wrong.

This comment severely derailed my confidence. I started to notice the gaping hole in the school uniform behind my tie. I felt the desire to find the baggiest clothes I could. I didn’t go swimming for a long time after that. I was a dancer too — coming to terms with the fact I no longer had the desired dancer's body was heartbreaking. I became embarrassed of the bra clasp that stuck out of the mandatory low back leotard. 

Being sexualised from a young age due to something you have no control over is damaging. The whorification of my body was one of the many reasons I considered breast reduction surgery. I did not truly understand how a person can be reduced to an object until I was said object. The worst part — I was made to feel like if I weren’t wearing a minimiser bra, my boobs would walk into a room before I did. I needed to change the narrative about my body. I found the opportunity to take control.

I had a bilateral breast reduction and lift in October 2021. I used lockdown as a means to figure out if the surgery was something I truly wanted, and this decision changed my life in so many positive ways. At first, I was too nervous to tell anyone what I had gotten up to during lockdown. Part of me was ashamed. When I had initially suggested to friends and previous partners that I was considering getting my ‘best asset’ reduced, they were vehemently against it. I was made to believe that I would not be desirable; this was confirmed by the attitude of the first plastic surgeon I consulted. Could they not see that I was debilitatingly insecure?

I have claimed my designer tits and never looked back. Life has gotten exponentially better. It did not take long for me to forget what it used to be like to have three kilos pulling down my shoulders everyday. For my own way of life, I now feel that I take up the right amount of space. In a way, the surgery was partly gender affirming, as I no longer feel trapped in the hyperfeminine mould I was given. My overall well-being and self-esteem has increased tenfold, my friends might argue that I have become too sure of myself to the point of narcissism…maybe they’re half-correct. No longer do I dread shopping trips with my sister — saving money is now my biggest worry, as my access to expensive clothing has grown. I have also forgotten that feeling of self-loathing, when I knew people weren’t making eye contact with me. I hated how it felt like I gave them permission to consume me in that way. Not that I ever actually did. 

To the potential pre-op reader, my heart goes out to you. Ignore what everyone else has said, this is your decision to make. I am proud of you for taking agency (and your designer tits).