Content warning: This article contains mentions of body dysmorphia.
I hate my boobs.
I’m not really quite sure when my hatred for my boobs arose. In high school, I never disliked my boobs. I never really noticed them all that much to be honest; they were kinda just there. I struggled with extreme body dysmorphia and eating issues, so I always focused more on the size of my waist than the size of my breasts.Â
Eventually, during my sophomore and junior year of college, I began comparing my boobs to my friends’ boobs. I shoved my breasts in tiny push-up bras and tight shirts, imitating the boobs I’d dreamed of. I felt so confident and loved how my boobs looked, but I knew that I was living a lie. I’d go home and unclasp my bra, only to be left with barely B-cup boobs and no cleavage whatsoever.Â
At some point, I stopped wearing push-up bras and tried embracing my natural boobs, but it became practically impossible as I constantly found myself comparing my breasts to others’. I’d go out to the bar or walk to class and constantly wish my boobs looked like anyone else’s that I passed by.
I dreaded having to wear bikinis in the warmer seasons, knowing that my flat, cleavage-less chest would be on display for all to see. I tried buying tiny bikinis that were barely large enough for my nipples, hoping they’d make my breasts more prominent, only for my chest to practically disappear, engulfed in fabric.Â
I began to frequently stalk my own Instagram, wondering if anyone else noticed how inconsistent my boobs looked in practically every photo I’d posted. In some photos, my breasts were held together with a push-up bra or boob tape, perfect-looking cleavage and boobs on display, and in other photos, there was nothing there — it looked like my chest belonged to a teenage boy’s.
Being on Instagram so often, I’d constantly see videos captioned “The BEST Going Out Tops For Girls With A Big Bust”…where were going-out top recommendations videos for girls with smaller busts? Why was my feed constantly showing me videos tailored to girls with larger boobs? It was almost as if my phone was trying to mock me.
I went out to a bar, wearing boob tape for the first time in months, and felt like a completely different person. I felt so confident and adored the way my chest looked, but was honestly confused as to why I didn’t have a flurry of men running up to me, desperate to talk to me. I wanted to scream Hey guys, I have BOOBS now! Come say hi! Why was nobody coming up to me? Why was nobody complimenting me? I was so confused.
It was weird though; whenever I was undressed, I liked how my bare boobs looked in the mirror. Sure, they weren’t huge, but they were at least decently sized. The hatred, however, would always arise anytime I put on a low-cut top and recognized my lack of cleavage.
Eventually, I took some time to figure out where this insecurity stemmed from. I like how my bare breasts looked in the mirror, so why do I hate them so much when I’m dressed? It wasn’t because I didn’t have boobs, because I do, but it was because I didn’t have that ever-so-desired, yet unrealistic, cleavage that every influencer and model posts.
I am a people-pleaser to my core; I care too much about how others thing about me and often find myself worried that others will judge my chest and its lack of cleavage. Going out and realizing that nobody cared whether I had cleavage or not made me realize that nobody honestly cares what size cup my boobs are. There are pros and cons to having big, small, and even medium-sized boobs, but everyone wants what they can’t have.
I feel like at some point in the future, I’m going to look back on this article and this insecurity of mine and laugh. My boobs are normal, and nothing I should be insecure of. Just because I don’t have insane cleavage when I’m braless doesn’t mean that my boobs are anything to be ashamed about. Whether I have cleavage or not, I’m still hot. End of story.