I'm buying a big bra.
I want a big bra that's white with panels and thick straps and with a row of five hooks up the back. I don't care.
I want a bra that says "lock down." You buy a bra like this? You're talking containment device. Nothing's getting in or out of this baby without approval from management.
I remember when you used to buy bras in the basement of Halle's in the "Foundations" department where they had dubiously masculine women of a certain age who wore Sensible Shoes and would help you with "fittings." Those broads knew bras.
"You need support in the cup area," they'd say while hefting either of your boobs in their hands. And believe me, when you walked out of there, you had support in the cup area, baby.
I'm sick of trying to muscle these beauties into some tiny cocktail candy-ass jewelry bra that isn't even a bra. It's a string with some lace and I'm done dealing with anything like that.
Look at this silly bra with the beads. On the outside chance that I could fit one boob in there, I'd probably get all tangled with beads stuck in my armpit. I'd never get that bead-holder thingie around my neck the right way. I'd be getting all sweaty and frustrated, then my boob would pop out. It's dumb. The Sensible Shoe Foundation ladies didn't go bringing any bead bras like this into the fitting room.
And for those of you out there thinking, but Erin, this is clearly a boudoir bra designed to titillate and accentuate the female form, kiss my ass. When I go into the boudoir with intent. I'm not wearing any bra. I'm not wearing anything.
Big bras on sale from now on. That's it. That's who I am.