How I Learned to Love my Small Boobs
How can something so small be the biggest source of insecurity for so many women? Maggie May looks at what your bra size says about you, and she talks to a special young lady who shares her inspiring story about the importance of self-acceptance and how she came to embrace her small lady bumps.
The first thing I noticed about Vicky was her intoxicating aura of self-confidence, it quite simply drew you in. She was chatting lightheartedly with her girlfriends as I took my place on the yoga mat beside hers. It was my first time at this particular studio, and I was somewhat taken aback by the amount of mirrors in the room. Whether you liked it or not, you were facing yourself in that studio, and that my friends, can be daunting.
As our handsome instructor took centre stage, all eyes zeroed in on their self-reflection in the mirrored wall behind him. And if you’ve ever been to such a studio, you’ll understand what I mean when I say in such situations one can’t help but look at the others in the mirror and think “What is that guy doing?”, “Oh wow, she can really go deep in her backbends!” And of course, “I wonder where she got those yoga pants from, and is my butt bigger than hers?”
What struck me throughout the class was how many of the women, young and old alike, had low tops and were proudly showcasing their voluptuous assets for the world (or handsome yoga instructor) to see and admire. How very yogic of them. And that is when Vicky stood out even more. She was distinct because she was the only woman in class who didn’t have large breasts popping out of her top, but also because of the way she carried herself, and her whole body; it was effortless.
“She was distinct because she was the only woman in class who didn’t have large breasts popping out, but also because of the way she carried herself, and her whole body; it was effortless.”
Whilst the other women were looking on sometimes happily or sometimes disapprovingly at the reflection of their pushed up or pumped up chesticles (it was ever-changing depending on the angle the mirror mirror on the wall showed them), Vicky was enjoying the moment for what it was. There wasn’t a sense of defeat about her, but rather acceptance and self-love, which no one else in that room seemed to possess.
“Whilst the other women were looking on sometimes happily or sometimes disapprovingly at the reflection of their pushed up or pumped up chesticles during their cobra pose, Vicky was the only one enjoying the moment for what it was.”
Vicky and I have since become close friends, and I sat down with her recently to speak about a topic that is dear to my heart, and I believe paramount in today’s day and age: embracing the wonderfully diverse world of breast sizes and shapes.
It turns out that Vicky hit puberty quite late, as opposed to me. Whilst I was focusing on wearing the loosest possible tops during athletics and PE to conceal my growing bouncing boobs in grade 6, Vicky was rushing to her father’s drawer and stealing the tape measurer daily to gauge growth. Any growth - in year 9. She begged and implored all the gods, both from her faith and those of foreign religions, to bestow upon her the gift of The Bossom. However, it seemed God’s grand plans for Vicky’s chest weren’t so grand after all.
She read countless books on the topic, took on some questionable diet tips, began each day with bust expanding exercises, and even went on the contraceptive pill (as one of the side-effects is enlarged breasts), but to no avail. Vicky would never be anything bigger than an A. Or as she saw it, she would never amount to anything greater than having “runner’s tits” (I winced when she said that.) At age 15, Vicky and a few fellow A Minus Cup Club members started to discuss their plans of going under the surgeon’s knife as soon as they became legal. Yes, at age 15.
“At age 15, Vicky and a few fellow A Minus Cup Club members started to discuss their plans of going under the plastic surgeon’s knife as soon as they became legal. Yes, at age 15.”
Like so many in her situation, she felt inadequate, disappointed, and somehow less of a woman. She felt resentful of the other blossoming girls, and her best friend’s full D cup was a constant reminder of what Vicky wasn’t and what her best friend was. The fact that her sister inherited their mother’s big bossom, and she seemed to inherit her father’s chest, made things that little bit worse.
“Like so many in her situation, she felt inadequate, disappointed, and somehow less of a woman.”
Whilst the girls in the changing rooms talked about their tender swollen breasts, she felt like a fraud, for she never felt her breasts become tender or swollen. She didn’t even have a sense of feeling her breasts. What breasts?! She felt cheated of her matronhood, and whenever she overheard the boys talk about so and so’s growing assets, she would roll her eyes and snarl at them. Vicky was not a content younger woman, and her unhealthy attitude towards sexuality and men had started to form - all because of her small breasts.
And thus like so many young women, Vicky could only face the world with the comfort of half a Kleenex box stuffed down her t-shirt. It took some serious origami work to get those tissues just the right size and shape to fit into her bra and finally make her a woman. This continued for a couple of years until, of course, Vicky got herself a boyfriend. A boyfriend who, she feared, would soon find out that her pitiful B cup was nothing more than an iron board A-cup filled with fluff and stuff. What she found out was that her then-boyfriend was happy to be intimate with her and discover her body - irrespective of the size of her boobs. He wasn’t so hung up, as none of her men were, on the size of her breasts. Certainly not as much as she was.
“It took some serious origami work to get those tissues just the right size and shape to fit into her bra and finally make her a woman.”
Meanwhile, her father would scratch his head every Friday when he found himself standing in the tissues isles, yet again, at the supermarket. How on earth did the tissue box become the most highly demanded item on their household shopping list? Perhaps he’ll now know why!
It took Vicky a decade of stuffing, prodding, lifting, pushing, and propping to finally accept that her small chest is not “too small” - it just is. She realised it is nothing to be ashamed of; but rather something to wear proudly. It is what makes her uniquely her.
Plus, she gets to enjoy the small boob benefits - like she can sleep on her chest and not feel uncomfortable or worry about putting the girls to the sides. She won’t experience the back pain many women who have larger breasts do. Her boobs will never sag, smaller breasts are naturally perkier. And let’s not forget that men will actually look her in the eye whilst she is speaking (always a nice thing.) She can go braless, and no one bats an eyelid. I personally loathe the bra; it is tight and uncomfortable for everyday life. Still, when I go braless I get the dirty looks from uptight women (I’m European, where I come from it’s the norm to go braless) and the men simply don’t see me but rather make crude, apparently amusing, remarks such as “It’s cold in here, isn’t it love?” Eh gross.
Having circulated in the corporate world, the fitness world, and the adult industry, I can honestly say that it is so utterly refreshing when one comes across a natural woman. Nowadays, that is indeed a rarity, and I know that most men would rather have a small-breasted natural woman, than yet another big silicon boobed woman. Most of my friends have shared horror stories with me from their plastic fantastic adventures, yet they are proud of their monstrous mammaries and hold no regrets.
“Nowadays, it is a rarity to see natural breasts.”
I have no opinions on what people choose to do with their bodies; it is their right. However, all the women in the yoga class who had perfectly perky bolted on-like breasts didn’t look like they had inner peace or joy. Perhaps why they were at yoga class seeking to find that exuberance. Little do they know, finding that centre comes from within. Much like it did with Vicky. Plus, she has a great ass, and her assurance in herself made her as sexy as any other woman - small boobed or big boobed!
So what does the size of your cup really mean?
The size of your cup means nothing. Sorry! It is not a ranking that defines your worth or your sexiness or femininity. Some of the most flat-chested women have been sensual starlets. Jenna Haze remains one of the most popular and fantasied over adult actresses of all time, and she has small breasts. Other sexy desired women who are not so well-endowed include Karlie Kloss, Natalie Portman, Kendall Jenner, just to name a few. All these girls rock their small cleavage - so who’s to say you can’t too? We mustn’t forget that Femininity is a mindset. It is not the combination of letters and numbers printed on your bra tag.
“The size of your cup is not a ranking which defines your worth, your sexiness or femininity.”
There is no “right” size
Just as there is no right height, waist size, calf size, shoe size, butt size, penis size - it is the same with breasts. Some women and men prefer larger, some smaller. We all have our tastes and preferences. Not all the girls liked muscly pumped up guys. Not all the guys like skinny girls with big breasts. The men who prefer larger boobs will go for larger boobed women. If he loves you, then he will love your boobs, and the tag on your bra won’t matter to him.
“Femininity is a mindset. It is not the combination of letters and numbers printed on the back of your bra… If your man loves you, then he will love your boobs, and the tag on your bra won’t matter to him.”
For all my smaller chested sisters out there, I invite you to look at your bra cup as half full rather than half empty. Body-shaming is a serious issue that plagues us all; however, once we learn to separate ourselves from the audience (that is society), we will merge our body with our mind and spirit, and in that union, clarity and peace emerge. If you still decide that you want to get implants, go for it; but first ask yourself who are you doing this for. If the answer is the public then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. If the answer is so you can be desirable then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. Two bags filled with silicon don’t make you desirable, it’s your whole attitude and approach to life that will make others want to be with you.
“For all my smaller chested sisters out there, I invite you to look at your bra cup as half full rather than half empty.”
We each play a role
Gents - if your mate’s girlfriend is small chested, try not to be a douche and make snide remarks like “What on earth do you grab onto when she’s riding you?” And so on. Be mindful that bodyshaming is very much real, and your words, whilst they may be flippant and humorous for you, may cause actual harm in another person’s world. It is not necessary. You can be a lover of big boobs, and that’s fine I respect that, but keep the put-downs to yourself. And try to think how you’d feel if people started talking that way about your rather un-manly jawline or chicken legs.
Ladies - don’t let society muddle for you what femininity is. Confidence is sexy. Loving yourself means fully loving the body you were given, and if small boobs are the worst thing you’ve got going - then you’re already ahead!
People of all genders and body shapes - I’m calling on you to make comments below. I’d love to hear your thoughts about this blog topic and your own stories of small boobs, big boobs, medium boobs, or self-acceptance of any part of your body
Written by Maggie May
Maggie May is a sexologist and a writer. She is a lover of all things sensual and sexual.