Baps. Bazookas. Bangers. Boobs. Breasts. Babylons. Bumpers. Bristol Cities…
These are just some of the B words for those bumps of flesh we have sitting on our chest. Yes, these varying burrata balls that bounce, dangle or protrude just above our rib cages have been creating quite a bonanza for a while now. But, why?
“They’re so squashy, comforting and nice’”
So is a marshmallow mate, but I don’t see you losing your shit and eyeballing them down the confectionary aisle.
There a few amalgamated events that have led to this slightly angry blog.
My own mother has an award-winning pair of knockers and carries them with a quiet pride, but even she surprised me with her taboob outlook on breasts.
About two years ago, along with my sisters I was singing in a wedding ceremony for my cousin, and as we often do, I had spent copious amounts of time and money fretting over the outfit, and had actually decided on an outfit I felt fierce in. The outfit consisted of high-waisted grey trousers and a deep plunge khaki leotard, see @lisaangharad8 on Instagram.
When I walked downstairs I was greeted with big green eyes and ‘Is that what you’re wearing?!”
To which I replied defensively “Looks like it doesn’t it, is there something wrong with it?”
“It’s just very revealing that’s all”
It WAS revealing. The important part here isn’t the revealing part, it’s the revealing a part of a body that isn’t ‘suitable’. Had I come down in a body-con dress nothing would have been said, and the crazy thing is, I have big chunky thighs with cellulite and stretch marks, whereas my breasts (touchwood) are still like two pannacottas topped with two slightly large brazil nuts. So, does it not make logical, visual sense that I show off my best bits?
You don’t make a trailer for The Lion King and just show the bit where Mufasa dies do you?!
As my breasts don’t move much (think pannacottas) there’s much less healthy and safety risks of getting them out than wearing a flap fondling dress.
To add a kick in the cunt to the disapproval, the only reason Mam asked me this was because we were about to enter a place of worship and she was worried what people would think. A place where people worship something I believe is very bizarre, where they condemn any sexuality in a woman, hate faggots and believe a woman should ‘obey’ the man.
“You should respect people’s religion”
I absolutely do. The same as I respect people who go to nudist beaches. People who have online virtual girlfriends. People who have sex with their cars.
Does that mean I have to obey Christian rules whilst in a marquee watching someone I love get married? Should I not have gone to the ceremony if I can’t ‘obey’ the rules? Would a Muslim attending the wedding be asked to take off their burka to show respect?If I went to a nudist beach wedding, would it be disrespectful of me to wear a sequinned kaftan?
What is actually disrespectful about my breasts? Are they winking at the vicar giving him a hard on so that he can’t concentrate on his sermon? My problem…? No.
Are they affecting my ability to sing in tune and do my job? No.
Are they suggesting something untoward, illegal or disgusting? No.
All these ‘disrespectful’ things my breasts are capable of are happening in other people’s head, it’s nothing that I’m actually doing, so surely it’s their problem, not mine?
If my breasts were going around during the ceremony flicking people’s crotches, teabagging the organist’s testicles and face slapping young children whilst they try and sing ‘all things bright and beautiful’ then I would understand. I would, I promise.
Are my baps not one of the bright and beautiful things your God himself created?!
More recently I have decked my babylons with a feminist t-shirt, with the boobs drawn on it. When I say drawn, I mean like a child’s drawing, two lines and two dots.
My goodness do these 4 tactfully placed shapes create a scene. I have worn the t-shirt about four times, and every time I feel as if I’m walking about naked donning a necklace made of tampons and dildos. I get pointed at, I get tutted at, I get sniggered at and I get whistled at.
Which one of those do I prefer?
Well the whistling of course. Some of you first wave feminists might disagree with me, but at least these people are celebrating my cartoon boobs. Straight Men and Gay Women finding boobs sexy is absolutely ok with me, and although a lot of you find the whistling offensive, to me voicing the fact that they find them sexy is absolutely fine. I voice the fact that I love a good strong arm sexy all the time. Do I whistle at men who are walking along the street? Absolutely not, but my head does half a whistle and then immediately proceeds to think about the amount of cheddar that’s left in the fridge, where bats go in the day and how we ended up letting a spunkbucket like Farage decide that we were to leave the EU.
What doesn’t sit comfortably with me is the people who assume that absolutely everybody finds boobs sexy, all the time, which results in them thinking that boobs should be hidden at all times. These people are my problem. These people don’t only walk the cobbled streets of Aberystwyth and London, Oh no… Breasts have been involuntarily sexualised worldwide.
MEXICAN MAMMARY MASTERS
Since the age of about 14 when I had what can only be called fried eggs(… but no egg white in sight, Just two big awkward yolks) I have gone topless when the sun’s out. Simply because it feels nice and relaxing and it means you don’t get horrible tan lines. It doesn’t matter where I am, if the sun’s warm enough the bakewells come out.
So, when I’d flown 10 hours to see the sunny shores of Mexico to beat that fat, skint month of January and had spent nearly the whole week frolicking topless like a walrus poolside, the last thing I expected was a short sweaty waiter to come over and ask me to ‘cover up’. Hoping maybe that he’d noticed that I was burning and that he was kindly advising me to cover up to avoid going from walrus to lobster, I said “Oh am I burning? Thank you”
“You need to put a top on madam”
It soon dawned on me that he wanted me to put my bakewells back in the bakery. I kept my calm and kept my breasts out, and asked politely,
“Oh right, you would like me to cover my breasts. Is there a specific reason?”
“You need to put a top on madam”
He did that thing of repeating exactly what he’d just said because he was slightly uncomfortable and had no answers, bless him.
“I’ve been topless here all week and no one has said anything, is there a reason my boobs aren’t allowed out today?”
He waddled to get his mate, who was as uninformative and awkward as him. So very politely with my breasticles still rapidly bronzing, I asked nicely if I could speak to someone who could give me some answers. Rushing over comes the “manager” of the complex.
“You need to put a top on immediately madam, it’s the rules”
“Oh I see, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had a policy regarding toplessness, where is it written?”
“It is a family complex madam, so if you don’t put a top on I will have to ask you to leave”
Things had taken an uncomfortable turn, my boobs had heard the chats and were dangling awkwardly averting their nipples away from the “manager’s” eyes, the sun had decided it would rather shine somewhere where there weren’t misogynistic pricks ruining people’s days, and those around me had reached that awkward part of their daiquiris where their straws were making a shitload of noise whilst desperately dragging the diluted dregs through the ice.
I was desperate to put a top on but even more desperate not to give in without a clearer explanation.
“If this was a written policy I would have known before spending a week out here topless, I also would have been told on the first day, rather than the last. Correct me if I’m incorrect, A ‘family complex’ only points out the fact that there are children here, yes? So those you’re protecting from my bare breasts are children, yes?”
I was quietly fuming now. One of my friends decided it was a great time for a cool down, and another just happened to fancy some chips right at that moment.
“I hate to bring this poor gentleman into this, but can you just take a look over there at that gentleman there with breasts quite a bit bigger than me. Will you be asking him to put a top on?
“No madam, let’s not be ridiculous”
“I’m trying to understand. Right now, you are making my breasts sexual without my consent. You are insinuating that my breasts are out to provoke arousal in those around me?”
“I am asking you to put a top on”
“But why? For what reason? In case the children see them, realise that they used to suck on them 4 years ago and dive on to my nipple for a 3 of clock snack even though there’s free paninis over there? Because those 5 yr olds splashing around in the pool certainly don’t see my breasts as sexual, in fact I can guarantee you that those children you are so worried about offending are the only ones in this complex that haven’t noticed or given two flying shits that I’m topless. Which makes me think that you aren’t asking me to cover up for the sake of the children, that in fact the main reason you want me to cover up is to avoid embarrassing boners around the pool? Am I correct?”
He was stumped, but it was me that had to give in, put my top on and walk sheepishly down to the beach to continue my sunbathing. I was humiliated and made to leave the complex because of the bizarre reason that there were children who might see my breasts. Those lumps of fat that are so crucial for the circle of life are made taboo, massively over sexualised and children are continuously taught that they are ‘naughty’ or funny.
The primary function of the breast is to feed children, so when and why did our society make breasts solely sexual?
The ‘genital echo theory’ believes that breasts developed the way they have when our distant ancestors decided that they didn’t want to crawl around anymore and that they might just try standing up and going for a walk. Prior to this our sign of fertility and winning flirting tool was our bum and we’d swish it about when we wanted to have a baby. According to the theory, when we started walking we needed a sign from the front too, so thankfully evolution gave us a chest swelling rather than a big fat bulbous vagina. Little high five to Evolution for that!
So contradictory to my whole rant above, did nature in fact decide that our breasts were sexual thousands of years ago? Am I hopelessly trying to dispense something that has been happening naturally since we were just past our primates?
Or am I correct in thinking that by today, most of us are considerably more advanced in our way of thinking than we were when we were scrambling around in our sister’s head looking for a snack, and that it’s today’s religion, media and retail industry that’s repetitively telling us that our breasts are sexual?
Do we have to listen to them? No, we don’t.
Do we continue to be brainwashed and not think twice about it? Yes, we do.
Shall we maybe try and kick this taboob gently in the crotch? I think maybe we should.