December 2006 Archives

As I was walking back to my car after breakfast at my favourite local cafe, a small group were heading the other way. The seemed like tourists. I couldn't quite pick the accents but I guessed European. They were obviously not familiar with the area. There were looking around looking a bit lost and I heard one of them say something about the coffee shop being around the corner.

One of the women was wearing plain off white t-shirt. It wasn't cut particularly low, but just at one side, the tiniest part of a lacy pink bra was showing. It looked like it had another colour in it as well - it may have been blue - it gave the impression of being an expensive bra.

It got me thinking about how much I like bras. Not so much because they are sexy - although they certainly can be – but so often they are just very very pretty.

I know Calendar Girl (among others) has serious reservations about the health risks associated with bra wearing (also see here)and I take Calendar Girl's recommendations on these things very seriously. Indeed bra wearing is often another thing that we men like to make women do to make themselves attractive to us - particularly the push-up cleavage making variety. So it could well be that at least some bras are bad for breast health. This was something I didn't think about a lot until I had read Calendar Girl's posts on the topic.

I was sad to read Calendar Girls revelations regarding bra wearing because, as I said earlier, I love bras. But it made sense to me. We men do love making our women (and women in general) do things to themselves that harm them but make them look more how we want them to look.

I'm betwixt and between regarding bras now. I understand what Calendar Girl says and it makes sense, but I do like how bras look.

This goes back a long time. As a young teenager I used to cut bra ads out of my mother's womens magazines. Then my sister became a teenager just about the same time the first issue of Dolly Magazine hit the streets. This issue remained famous in my memory for carrying an full frontal ad for a type of bra I had never seen before - a seamless see through bra in a reasonable large cup size.

For quite a while I was fascinated with how bras work and how different bras resulted in different shapes. So much so that my life partner has not bought a bra herself for years. I learnt that I liked the look of underwired bras – as it seems do most women and men by the absolute predominance of underwires in bras these days.

For a long time I liked the sheer seamless look. But then I learnt about high fashion bras such as Simone Perele. My partner likes wearing these bras on special occasions. I have spent a lot of time in lingerie shops over the years and now know how to determine if a bra fits correctly.

I have noticed how fashion has changed over the years and how different bras change the shape of the wearer's breasts.

For the moment, for me, bras remain part of the mystery of womanhood.

More Christmas shopping today and, of course, more breasts.

Some people reading this would say I am obsessed with breasts, but I think through writing this blog I have become more honest with myself about breasts and less obsessed than I have been throughout my whole life.

But let me go back a few steps.

I love Christmas and I love Christmas shopping. OK, my feet do get tired and I get a little frustrated waiting in queues for so long. But I love being amongst the crowds. I love seeing so many different expressions. A lot of people are in a hurry sure, and Christmas has become way too commercialised, but there is still a sense of giving at Christmas.

I placed some small items at the ABC Shop giving tree this morning and it was overflowing. People were giving generously to those in need.

Sure there's a lot of angst at Christmas but there's also a lot of joy. People genenuinely wanting to make others happy.

So I love observing this as people shop. I think I would love to have my camera and take photos of faces. The field is so rich. So many different faces. So many different expressions.

And of course, so many breasts.

About the time I started this blog, I made a conscious effort to notice what I noticed about breasts. On one occasion on a warm day, I walked down Ackland St, St Kilda and just observerd. I don't think I stared. I just, for once, took note of what I saw. As if I were observing noses, or hair styles. Just noticing.

This was a great experience. Not so much because I was allowing myself to observe breasts without feeling guilty or without trying to sneak a view, but because I accepted that breasts are part of the landscape. They are part of what we see.

Sometimes we act as though, and my breasted friends think that is all we see. Of course it is not. But because, at least somewhere withing ourselves, we feel guilty about breast watching, it does become an obsession. Like any obsession, it tries to block out everything else.

But if we allow that we like seeing breasts and accept it, we can say "OK, yes I've seen a breast and it is nice, but there's lot's else to see as well." Shock horror, we might notice that women have beautiful eyes as well. We might notice our breasted friends hair, their beautiful skin, the way they walk, the pretty colour and cut of their clothes .

Yes we notice these things anyway, but our breast obsession detracts from the attention we can give to these other dimensions.

So if we come out from behing our hiding places and accept that we like breasts and we like seeing them. If we allow ourselves to be vulnerable to our breasted friends in allowing them to know we like their breasts we might also be able to more fully let them know that we like all of them as well.

When I look at faces when I am Christmas shopping, I reaffirm my belief that the face is a window to a soul. That is the connection I make with others.

Breasts, on the other hand and for better or worse, have become the window to woman-ness. It is not that we need to focus on breasts alone, but to men in western society they represent more than any other sinlge thing, le'difference.

Let's between us learn to enjoy that so we can move on to more meaningfully knowing each other.

I've been thinking about breast experiences over the last couple of days.

It's a few days before Christmas and Christmas in Melbourne brings memories of shopping amongst crowds in hot weather. Each year I think back at Christmas episodes from years past that stand out in my memory.

When you have crowds and hot weather you have lots of breasts. Lots of summer frocks, singlet tops, t-shirts and sometimes, bikini tops.

There are many Christmas breast episodes in my memory bank. As soon as the Christmas shopping starts, and I have a chance to wind back a little from work the Christmas memories start flowing through my head. Most of them, of course don't specifically involve breasts, but many of them do.

In one sense the two are intricately linked. In the deepest recesses of my being, breasts evoke memories of being cared for and protected. Of a time, when I didn't have to worry about world affairs. Of a time when, if I was afraid at night, my mother would come to me and hold me. Of a time when Christmas was pure and simple joy and magic.

So, in one sense, breasts at Christmas evoke those deepest feelings.

And, as I complete my Christmas shopping these last two days have been very warm and breasts are everywhere. It has become an inseperable part of Christmas.

I can hear some who would say this is demeaning to both the sanctity of the Christmas season and to women.

Sometimes its impossible not to look.

I can hear the howls of objections saying "Of course it's possible not to look. It's just a matter of training yourself." Well of course you may well be right, but there are some sights where I wonder if someone was holding a gun to my head and told me they would pull the trigger if I looked, if I would be able to restrain myself. Its a bit like that scene in Clockwork Orange. (If you know it you know it. If you don't, I'm not going to explain it here.)

It's going to a very warm day in Melbourne today. It's not yet 11am and its already getting uncomfortable. Breast weather.

You are walking towards me. You're probably about 50 metres away when I first notice you. You're wearing a tight white top cut straight across with spaghetti straps. It looks nice. As we get closer, I notice the tops of your breasts bouncing slightly above your top. Nothing special just nice. As we pass I can see you are wearing a push up bra that really emphasises your breasts and cleavage.

There is a group of 60 something men typical of the retired class of this well to do suburb sitting around an al fresco table. They nod, wink and smile at each other, moving restlessly in their seats as you pass them.

As you pass me, I glance (perhaps even look) directly at your breasts — something I don't do very often these days. I can't help but think that's what you want me to do. I doubt you want me to stare. I doubt you want me to whistle or remark, but I think you want to see me look all the time trying to appear as though I am not. I can't help but think you enjoy the power you have to make me turn my head.

In contrast the woman sitting at the table opposite wearing a summer frock with a V front. Not what I would call particularly low cut but quite revealing in a non revealing way — if you know what I mean. It doesn't look as though she is trying to attract me. It's just what you wear on a warm day if you want to be cool.