Like the rest of my relationship with my body, the one with my breasts has been a journey. I remember my first training bra. It was sky blue, with a white band. My mother handed it to me in her small bedroom in the house that seemed so big to me then. I was equal parts embarrassed and excited, but that’s about all I remember. I don’t even remember wearing it.

I’ve never been very well-endowed in the chest area, my breast buds turned tubular and I was self-conscious about their shape. I didn’t need a bra even in high school, but I think I wore one anyway. I managed to fit into a B-cup for most of my adolescent and adult life, but probably could’ve gotten by with an A when I was young.

The search for bras that worked was never ending, my particular fit elusive.

When I had my first son, I learned that insufficient glandular tissue is a thing, and that my small breasts were less desirable in another way. I wasn’t able to feed my baby, and I grieved the loss of part of my womanhood and part of my motherhood.

I got older and fatter, and my breasts expanded. They grew in heft, but also spread to the sides, merging with the curves and valleys of my fat body. The search for bras that worked was never-ending, my particular fit elusive. As my band size outpaced my cup size, the gap made finding bras difficult at best. Not only that, but the larger the size the less affordable options there were.

The bras I could find got more and more uncomfortable. Even if they fit, there were red marks, digging, squeezing, and the worst offender: roaming underwires.

In April of 2016, I lost my job. It was a heartbreaking and traumatic experience, and thrust me into a year full of loss and grieving. During that time, I stopped wearing a bra completely. It probably started because I was depressed and home most of the time since I couldn’t really afford to go anywhere. But it continued because I wasn’t going anywhere where how I clothed my body was dictated by outside forces.

I was so comfortable. There was no more rushing into my bedroom at the end of the day to free myself from the compression of something that pushed my natural body into a more acceptable shape. When I got a job, though, I felt like I had to revert to “normalcy.” I shopped for work clothes, and sweated through trying on bra after bra until I found the two that fit me and didn’t totally make me want to cry.

I haven’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about where bras came from. How did we get to this place where someone decided that bras were a staple of being decent or professional? We are expected to wear them to cover up our super-offensive nipples that we were born with. My nipples are just…. there. Like my belly button. There isn’t anything I can do about them, and I’ve spent too much time working on liberating myself from body shame let it back in for boob-ends.

Besides, as Mr. Focker pointed out, we all have nipples. Why are my nipples any more offensive than a man’s nipples? Why is wearing a bra considered more appropriate than not wearing one?

We wear bras because we learn that it is an indispensable garment and we do not normally question its real need. We use it because in our society there is one of these unwritten rules that says that female nipples are offensive or libidinous, and therefore worthy of censorship, while male nipples are not. Society also states that breasts should be pulled up (to please the eye) but should not move too much (as so not to draw too much attention to themselves?!). Ana Fialho

The bottom line is this:

I was wearing a bra because I thought my discomfort would make others more comfortable.

Yep. Deidre Delpino Dykes had it right, and put it so succinctly when she wrote about how and why she ditched bras for good.

Last year, I turned 40. My mother had been warning me of it for years, that when I entered middle age, I would legit stop caring what other people thought. Still, I didn’t expect the force with which I would arrive at this glorious stage of just being so done with it all.

I went on vacation in early May, and when I got back, I just never put a bra back on.

I decided that life is too short to spend time pretending or doing things you hate. I told my boyfriend I didn’t care if he deep-cleaned the toilets and grout or if we hired someone, but I wasn’t interested in doing it. I stopped plucking my eyebrows. I don’t say yes to things that don’t bring me happiness. And bit by bit, I completely stopped wearing a bra.

It was a gradual transition. At first it was one day a week, and I felt like I was getting away with something. Then, I increased it to two days. I had already done away with the evil underwire, and by early 2021 I had two plain cotton bralettes I would wear most of the time. I went on vacation in early May, and when I got back, I just never put a bra back on.

What about downsides? Well, there haven’t been many. I have a few shirts that I can’t wear without a bra because the fabric is too thin or translucent. I still have my basic bralettes as an option, but for the most part I’ve just chosen to wear shirts that are thick enough not to show the color of my nipples through them.

If someone doesn’t find me attractive unless I’m making myself physically uncomfortable, they’re probably not for me.

Some of my clothes don’t look as “good” with no bra. When you wear a bra, it lifts your breasts forward and up, so shirts fit differently and the waist is a bit more accentuated. Without a bra, I am just my natural shape, which is womanly, but also less smoothed out and pushed in. My thoughts about this run along the lines of oh well! It’s no longer worth it to me to go through 9+ hours every day of discomfort. Besides, exactly who am I trying to look good for? If someone doesn’t find me attractive unless I’m making myself physically uncomfortable, they’re probably not for me.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not judging anyone who enjoys wearing a bra. If you like wearing one or are physically more comfortable in one, more power to you. Dictating that no one should wear bras is just another restriction that I’m not interested in placing on anybody.

I choose not to wear a bra because they are uncomfortable, and don’t serve any purpose for me beyond hiding or reshaping my natural body. The older I get, the less I want to try to fit into some arbitrary mold of what is beautiful, attractive, or acceptable. In the comments section of Kristin Chirico’s article about going braless, one person posited:

Your breasts are not saggy. I hate that word. It’s just that we’re so used to seeing women in pushup bras that we don’t even know what “saggy” really is. A perky, natural bustline is now described as “saggy” because people aren’t used to seeing women without bras.

Ads and years of beauty magazines and supermodels tell us that we are supposed to be perky and smooth, but that is not how my body is. The further I get into body acceptance and liberation, the less I want to change the shape of my body into something that is considered more acceptable than my natural form.

If you want the truth about giving up bras for good, here it is: no one has said a thing. As far as I know, nobody at work has noticed, or if they have, they haven’t said anything. Why? Well, probably because what is actually unprofessional is staring at or commenting on your co-workers breast situation.

In her article about ditching her bra for a week, Kristin Chirico wrote

I decide at one point to stop hiding behind my crossed arms when it gets cold. And it ends up being fine. Either everyone I work with is very mature and understanding, or everyone has way more important shit to worry about besides somebody’s nipples. Probably the second one.

I begin to realize that no one is going to punish me for breaking the rule about not wearing a bra… except me.

Once I stopped worrying, I pretty much stopped thinking about bras at all. I don’t worry about whether my straps are showing. I don’t have to adjust myself multiple times a day because something is slipping or migrating. I don’t end the day with red marks on my skin. Ditching bras has been freeing for me, and made every day just that much more pleasant, and I don’t regret it one bit.

Have you ever gone braless? How did you feel? If you liked it, what is stopping you from going bra-free full time?