I remember hearing a friend saying "no-one would want to look at my breasts, they're so tiny."

This is what made me think again about breasts and flowers.

When we come across the tiniest wild flower we don't disregard it because of it's size. More likely we prize it all the more because of it's delicacy. This doesn't mean we can't admire a sunflower. We admire things because of their beauty. Why can't we do the same with breasts?

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JANE magazine discovered in a recent survey of their readers that a shocking 75% of women say they are unhappy with their breasts. With that in mind, the May issue of JANE features “The JANE Guide to Breast Health” - a comprehensive feature promoting physical and emotional breast health. The guide focuses on positive self-image beginning with a personal essay by Editor Annemarie Conte discussing how she grew to love her asymmetrical breasts. Following the essay is a full-page of photos of real (100% natural) breasts in a variety of shapes and sizes to show readers the large range that is “normal.” The photos combat the media bombardment of false images of “perfection” that just leave women feeling bad about themselves. Each of the photographs is accompanied by the real woman’s reason for loving her breasts. The page also calls out to Jane readers to submit photos of their own breasts and their reasons for loving them to be posted on Jane’s website, janemag.com.

Geralynn Lucas, author of "Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy" will be blogging for Jane’s website, janemag.com, for the month of May. Her first posting on “Inner Cleavage” is up today. “Inner cleavage,” according to Lucas, “is a state of mind. It is a belief that you are sexy regardless of your cup size. It means loving the boobs you own. It doesn't require a plastic surgeon, implants, padding or push up bras. It means that I am not only my bra size.”

The link to the online version of “The JANE Guide to Breast Health” - http://www.janemag.com/magazine/articles/2007/04/BreastGuideMain

The May issue hits newsstands nationwide on April 24th.

I am 27 and since my breasts are so tiny I don't even fit into an A cup I really sympathised with the girls on last night's show and I understand all of the feelings raised. I could write an essay of my own experiences and struggles but the most important point I'd like to raise is this. I realised some time ago that I am about more than my flat chest. Though I lack breast tissue, I still believe that I am all female. I prefer wearing clothes without any bra and therefore without hiding behind padding. This is me and loving myself is what I spend my time on now, not fretting about wanting to be at least an A cup. We are all different but we are all beautiful for we are all unique - I have faith in that and I keep smiling. Jess from Oxford

When I read the part "I still believe that I am all female" I wanted to yell out YES!!!! Throughout my life I have fallen in love with several women with very small breasts and I have thought they were beautiful and sexy because of it. I have noticed a much larger number of women with very small breasts and thought they were beautiful and sexy because of it. And I mean "because of" not "despite".

I recall an incident many years ago when I was at a beach where women often went topfree. It was a very hot day. A woman was wading in the water topfree - although women often went topfree at this beach, it was almost always only while they were lying on their towels. This particular woman had virtually no breasts at all. The only differences between her chest and mine were that it was very smooth and her nipples were larger. But she was walking elegantly with her shoulders back. I thought it was one of the sexiest sights I had ever seen. I thought she just looked beautiful.

I want to say to small breasted women everywhere (as far as it is up to me to say to anyone else how they should feel about themselves) that I think you should be proud of your breasts and that you are all woman.

I congratulate the BBC for running this program.

Here is the cover.

It is to be published this Ocotber.

I'd like to take this opportunity to say what a great resource this site is. If you haven't already, you should visit it.

You, my breasted friends, all know this. Sometimes you find it amusing. Other times you hate it.

I am referring to the the ability of a prominently breasted woman distracting my attention mid sentence.

Today was the amusing occurrence

In a cafe with my partner.

An older woman was reading a magazine at a nearby table. Until this event I would not even have remembered noticing her.

It was nice time in a nice cafe as my partner and I discussed matters of life importance.

A chance glance over to my left as I paused to think of a word revealed a new page in the magazine. It was a black and white image of a graceful nude woman standing with her arms stretched above her head. It was the type of image you would expect to see in a fine art magazine.

Without hesitation, I commented on this observation to my partner.

It was that type of day and we were in that type of mood.

Knowing me so well, and being in the mood to be amused rather than annoyed my partner laughed, shook her head and said "You've got a built in radar."

It would only be funny if it were not so absolutely true.

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It has been a very warm day in Melbourne today. My partner and I went down to the local cafe for coffee around midday. As we came out, my partner commented about the two women there with prominent cleavage.

The first she commented on was a middle aged woman with two children. In keeping with the weather she was wearing a summer frock cut in a V (a bit like this). Her bra appeared to take on the role more of a shelf than a holder of 'the girls' and she appeared as though she would pop right out at any moment.

The other woman was more in my line of sight than my partner's - although from where I was sitting, I could not see her cleavage. We both noticed this only on the way in and the way out. I did notice, from time to time as we sipped our coffees that she had an absolutely gorgeous smile which she used often.

She was a younger twenty something woman and very attractive. She was also wearing a summer frock but this was cut straight across (something like this) with a push up bra underneath. On display were two firm and quite pretty hemispheres. I wondered what it was like to sit there with your breasts so prominently on display. I wondered what she was thinking when she put that outfit on. Did she just want to look pretty? She certainly achieved that. Did she want to attract attention? I think she would have achieved that, although her outfit was quite tasteful and in keeping with the weather, so not as much attention if she had achieved the same effect on a cold day.

Maybe - probably perhaps - she didn't think anything of it. It was just a warm day's outfit.

Probably the same thoughts went through the other woman's mind. It's a warm day. I will wear this summer frock. It's just another part of the body after all.

As I said - we men can never really know what it is like to have breasts.

Quite interesting given our recent discussion regarding bras.

The "good doctor" came to my attention through his ad in the latest issue (#88) of Black+White magazine (more flash but you should find it pretty easily.) In keeping witht the style of the magazine, the photos in his ad are stunningly beautiful. That is, until I realised that they were all photos of his patients.

I am concerned about the medical ethics of using photos of his patients to advertise his practice. However, that's not what concerns me most.

My deepest concern centres on the doctor's belief that his patients are like clay in his hands and his work is art. I guess this is the logical outcome of the way that breast enhancements is generally viewed but I find it sickening. Surely there is a place for cosmetic surgery and we have allowed a blurring of lines between medical expediancy and pleasure. But to blatantly advertise his own work as art surely means the doctor has given up medicine.

My final discomfort however rests in my own reaction. When I view the comparisons as a man - as this man - I mostly find the "before" images to be at least as attractive as the "after' ones. However, if I try to imagine myself fully in the body of the women subjects, I would prefer the 'enhanced' version of myself. There is something about the way breasts are viewed by both men and women that regards more as more valuable and more powerful. I'm not exactly sure where that reaction comes from.

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 [added 1/1/07:] although with some discomfort about my role in perpetuating false ideals of beauty.

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.

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 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.

Eventually he quitened just enough to allow his mother to lift him onto her lap, draw him to her and quietly stroke his head. After some minutes of this he quitened altogether and whatever had bothered him became a memory.

My first reaction to this was to remember with fondness, times when our children were young and we lived through similar episodes. Although distressing for a parent, there is nothing quite like it when you know your love and patience has reassured your child.

Secondly I thought briefly about how Freudian psychologists would interpret this episode as an example of the anger we all experience when we first realise that our parents are not able to provide our every instantaneous need and want. But I didn't dwell on that, except that it led me to my next thought.

My third thought was how there is nothing as comforting to a child than to beheld against its mother's breast. As boys and men our attraction to breasts is so strong, so deep and so instantaneous it makes sense to see this as a deep desire to be taken once more to our mother's breast and be comforted. I'll put my hand up for that for one. That this might be something that throws back to our earliest experiences makes sense in explaining what we can't explain any other way. Ask any man why he is so attracted to breasts. He won't be able to tell you, but nine times out of ten he will tell you that breasts are very powerful.

So why don't women have the same experience? Hmm. This could torpedo my argument. My explanation though is that women become mothers. You become the nurturer. Your need to be nurtured is found by nurturing. You become part of the sisterhood. I am a lot convinced by this train of thought.

I'd be interested to know yours.