{"id":5273,"date":"2013-07-26T00:23:01","date_gmt":"2013-07-26T00:23:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/?p=5273"},"modified":"2013-07-26T20:14:26","modified_gmt":"2013-07-26T20:14:26","slug":"solace-for-the-girls-bras-i-have-known","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/2013\/07\/solace-for-the-girls-bras-i-have-known\/","title":{"rendered":"Solace for the girls: Bras I have known"},"content":{"rendered":"

Bras I Have Known<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Bras have held me up and held me down and a few have been dear as well as near to my heart. So many I have wanted to keep as mementos. One I almost threw away, but then that bra, sad as an old pair of shoes, looked at me in that certain way and I just couldn\u2019t dump it. I mean, what are another few inches on the bottom of the drawer? Some you owe that much.<\/p>\n

Bras, like shoes, should have a specific fit. You get in, adjust yourself, and there should be a certain comfort, like you\u2019re in the hands of an old friend. There should be no binding. Neither footwear nor bras should pinch. And just like shoes, bras shouldn\u2019t be too tight or flesh will spill over the sides. That\u2019s no good.\u00a0 A bra either fits or it doesn\u2019t, no matter how much you work the straps.<\/p>\n

One old bra (not a keeper) closed in the front. I gave it the boot after I wore it to a Cubs game. Excitable fan that I was, I raised my arms to signal the beer vendor and the hook and eye came undone. All of the sudden–yee-ha\u2014something was loose like dogs that had just wriggled out of their collars. \u00a0And just at that moment a nun, in full habit, passed me in the aisle. The sight of that black-and-white at the very moment my bra unsnapped triggered a reaction in this Catholic girl. I was overcome with guilt, or more likely, the prospect that I was going to get caught. I gasped in confession to my friend on the way to the john, \u201cThere was nun right there when my bra came undone.\u201d\u00a0 It was such a religious experience that I didn\u2019t order a beer, at least not until the inning after that.<\/p>\n

Another bra, this one an old soldier, is missing one of its \u201ceyes.\u201d As I fasten it, the material gapes where closure is incomplete, like a gap-toothed hillbilly smile. Each time I wear it I vow will be the last, but eventually one winter Sunday morning, this bra will be the first in my hand. If I put it on, I know I will lounge and read the paper. The antithesis of Sunday best, it keeps me from going to church, again.<\/p>\n

That bra is in a color lingerie makers refer to as nude.\u00a0 Most bras come in white, black, or nude.\u00a0 Some years ago Binney & Smith Incorporated renamed the crayon called \u201cflesh\u201d to \u201cpeach\u201d so I wonder how \u201cnude\u201d remains a standard in the bra industry. Nude to whom? And is nude the same as damask neutral, body blush, and skintone? I wonder whether Crayola namers and lingerie labelers shouldn\u2019t get together to discuss the flesh tones. Let\u2019s have a consensus. Which is more apt\u2014caf\u00e9 or cocoa; taupe, tan, or toffee; champagne, ivory, or antique beige?<\/p>\n

Some bras have stays.\u00a0 Who ever thought of them? Are they called stays because they help your breasts stay? Longer and pluckier, they are in old-fashioned girdles too. And their baby cousins mind shirt collars. The first time I ever saw stays on my big sister\u2019s dresser I wanted to do a craft project with them, you know like a Popsicle stick house only with white stays. Can\u2019t you picture it?<\/p>\n

Some keeper bras have been significant, like the one I wore on my wedding day, pristine white, even if I wasn\u2019t. No straps, with a posture all its own, that bra made me feel like Audrey Hepburn. Well, almost.<\/p>\n

I imagine I hated my first bra, daunted by life\u2019s complications. I was in third or fourth grade, the first in my class to get a bra (yes, I was that girl), and I didn\u2019t really want one but I needed one. What I wanted were thinner legs like Susan Hutmacher\u2019s so that I could wear anklets to school. Similarly, my Mother was either slow to realize her youngest girl\u2019s needs or didn\u2019t want to admit them (or didn\u2019t want to spend the money, she was a child of The Depression after all). But as I came to accept I had knee sock legs, not anklet legs, I also came to concede, as my sisters had been telling me, I needed a bra.\u00a0 So while Mother was on her lifelong dream trip to Ireland, my older sister met me at the Belmont el stop after school and we rode the rest of the way downtown together to meet our older sister at Wiebolt\u2019s. They took me to the girls pre-teen department and I was measured for my first one. The actual experience is remote (I wonder: Do girls have ways of forgetting gropings?).<\/p>\n

I do know that afterward we three walked through the S & H Stamp Redemption section, passed displays of lawn chairs, coolers, beach balls, and rafts, all available for a certain number of Green Stamp books, and into Wiebolt\u2019s version of the Walnut Room (which is the restaurant at Marshall Field\u2019s). The waitress was great, like a favorite aunt, and we had dinner\u2014salads of cold iceberg lettuce, turkey, and Thousand Island dressing capped off by the best part, Gold Brick sundaes that we\u2019d have to practically chip and mine from the sides of the metal bowls. I loved those Gold Brick sundaes. Funny, I can\u2019t remember the bra and I can\u2019t forget the dessert.<\/p>\n

How about an underwire bra? The little extra pinch and snap it gives, like military spit and polish, bringing things to attention. Underwires don\u2019t poke out from a bra as often as stays peek from their seams, but underwires do get crimped and bent in the wash if you\u2019re, as I am, too lazy to hand wash your \u201cdelicates.\u201d\u00a0 Sometimes in the laundry bras become twisted and the underwire gets out of whack, like an over-sprung Slinky. Once mangled, the bra is unusable. Perhaps underwire could be used in that arts and crafts project too.<\/p>\n

Also in my life there have nursing bras, venerable in white cotton but convoluted as a magician\u2019s cabinet, with hidden doors and drapes. These bras always brought to mind a harness for in the days I wore them I felt my most bovine. Is the word cincture a right one?\u00a0 If not for the warm head against my flesh, the whole nursing procedure could have seemed agricultural. I can guess why dairy cows kick over the milking stool on occasion. The only reason for me\u00a0 to keep a nursing bra was for insurance\u2014the old wives say pregnancies can occur once you dump the baby stuff and get rid of the maternity wear. But now that my hot flashes tell me not to worry about pregnancy \u2013 I suppose the bra should go, were it not for its sentimental value.<\/p>\n

On the opposite extreme of nursing bras are sports bras, which seem to follow an ancient principle of binding.\u00a0 The first sports bras I owned had to slide over my head, it was challenging just to put it on– as if you\u2019re getting stuck in a rubber band until you wriggle into the Lycra ligature. But sports bras do cut down on flop and this is enhanced by the lack of cups, per se, and the more equal distribution pattern. However, without realignment every once in a while, your front may come to resemble a ledge, one plateau of flesh instead of two distinct mountains, as disconcerting as a unibrow. But sports bras are getting better.<\/p>\n

Like everything else, bras have become more and more sophisticated.\u00a0 When I was growing up, bustier was not in the general vocabulary. The talk was simply padded or unpadded.\u00a0 And a bra strap showing was not part of a larger fashion statement. Recently girls had to decide whether they wanted to dress VBS (visible bra strap) or not. When I was their age, the discussion was whether to wear a bra at all, so the sight of a strap, obvious as a poor relation, doesn\u2019t shock me.<\/p>\n

When I was coming up, the bra biggies, as I remember them were Vassar, Platex Cross Your Heart, Maidenform, and Olga. Don\u2019t you think it is ironic that one of the leading women\u2019s schools shares its name with underwear?\u00a0\u00a0 You may wonder which came first, the school or the bra. Well, the school was established in 1861 while bras were not mass marketed until the 1900s.<\/p>\n

Maidenform sounds somewhat medieval, as if the company got its start with chastity belts. Playtex–think of rubber gloves then think of bras, and Cross your Heart–it implies so much.\u00a0 Olga, wasn\u2019t she one of the women who worked at Schwartz\u2019s on Lawrence Avenue? \u00a0Did you or one of your girlfriends have a music box with a tiny dancer doing a pirouette? Well, that\u2019s how I picture the Albany Park storefront\u2014a pink jewel box.<\/p>\n

How abashed I was to have the saleslady exhort, \u201cBend over and shake into it.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0 Then when I turned right side up again, her fingers probed cup depth as if putting down piecrust or tested the fit by snapping the elastic.\u00a0 Unlike the impertinent fifth-grade boy who did the same thing, she would not ask, \u201cIf you\u2019re not a turtle, then why do you snap?\u201d but instead wondered aloud, \u201cDo we need a 36?\u201d A bra from Schwartz\u2019s was a special occasion.<\/p>\n

A recent birthday made me blue for any number of reasons (that\u2019s another essay entirely) so I sought the solace of Schwartz\u2019s.\u00a0 It may be true that you can\u2019t go home again but you can go to back to your bra store.<\/p>\n

Now in a north suburban location, the store is doublewide with racks of intimates on one side and bathing suits on the other. I strolled up and down the aisles until I realized I needed a ticket, just like at the bagel bakery. When my number was called, it was not Olga but Cindy who greeted me, and she was near my own age.\u00a0 She looked at the bra I arrived in and said, in the kindest way possible, \u201cWell, that\u2019s not doing much.\u201d\u00a0 I didn\u2019t take umbrage at the remark for I knew then, here was a woman who spoke the truth, who would shore me up and help me face the world.<\/p>\n

I was ready when she took the measuring tape from around her neck.\u00a0 Unlike the shy girl forty-some years earlier, I had no qualms getting measured without a layer of blouse or bra to distort the number. The tape disclosed I had been wearing the wrong size. How long had I been deceiving myself? No wonder my spirits sagged while the back of the bra crept up my spine all day. The off-the-rack bras, the catalog ones\u2014all had been ineffective.<\/p>\n

Each selection she brought lifted me higher. This was the way bra-buying should be.\u00a0 Once I had lost my religion but I found it again and here was the place to practice. Cindy was just on the other side of the fitting room door to see how I fared with each trial.\u00a0 When one bra fit well except for a small pucker in the cup, she pinned a dart on each side for the bra to be altered by the in-store tailor.\u00a0 Cindy and a tailor!! \u2014How I relished all the personal attention; to think, an entire staff was there to help me put my best breast forward.<\/p>\n

Four bras and a canister of talcum powder later, I was armed to face the world.\u00a0 Like a kid at a shoe store, I wore one of my new purchases home.\u00a0 When Cindy asked did I want my old bra, I suggested it be burned and she remarked that was a different era.\u00a0 Even though I could not set something ablaze, I was exhilarated.\u00a0 Before my trip to Schwartz\u2019s, I felt as if I were traveling a darkened road.\u00a0 After, with my headlights adjusted, I didn\u2019t think life\u2019s journey would be quite so hard to navigate.<\/p>\n

But alas, even a well-fitting bra outgrows its usefulness. Throughout the years bras of stretched out dingy elastic have been traded in for new ones. Not quite shocking but certainly intimidating is the Wonder Bra from Victoria\u2019s Secret.\u00a0 Vickie Hush-Hush has her secret and I have mine: I\u2019ve never bought one there.\u00a0 I cannot relate to those angels with their perfect figures. I am looking for the model who, like Olga herself, has a little gooseflesh on her arms.\u00a0 I can\u2019t be Victoria\u2019s Secret Angel just like at 12, I didn\u2019t look like Ann Francis when she was Honey West.\u00a0 But at least with Honey West, I could pretend.<\/p>\n

Anyone–man or woman–may have a chip on his or her shoulder but it\u2019s predominately big-breasted women who suffer chinks in their trapezius muscles from the weight they lug around. There\u2019s a certain truth to why a bra is called \u201cthe over the shoulder boulder holder\u201d by 10-year-old boys. Like a bag of rocks, it leaves a mark. I\u2019ve noticed that the strap of my shoulder bag just fits into the dent made by my bra strap. Was that just on account of darn good luck?<\/p>\n

As I recall the bras of my past, one lesson is clear: Take care of the boobs and the rest will follow. Whether it helps you stand taller or enhances your d\u00e9colletage, a bra is called a foundation garment for a reason. Remember that time is elastic and so are bras. When you need to shore up your confidence and lift sagging spirits, look to the foundation because chances are, it\u2019s time to get a new bra.<\/p>\n

Dear Reader — If you’ve made it this far, thanks for indulging me.\u00a0 I’ve had this essay in my files and never been able to place it so I figured why not publish here. If you enjoyed it, please check out the accompanying Glimpse of Solace (Two by Two)<\/a>. News of the world has left me glum lately so I got into some light-hearted distraction with my camera.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Peace, love, and solace<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Bras I Have Known Bras have held me up and held me down and a few have been dear as well as near to my heart. So many I have wanted to keep as mementos. One I almost threw away, but then that bra, sad as an old pair of shoes, looked at me in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[1685,1684,1686,12,45,1687,13,7,16,32],"class_list":{"0":"post-5273","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"tag-bras","8":"tag-bras-i-have-known","9":"tag-brassieres","10":"tag-ellen-wade-beals","11":"tag-essay","12":"tag-humor","13":"tag-poetry","14":"tag-solace","15":"tag-solace-in-so-many-words","16":"tag-weighed-words","17":"entry","18":"has-post-thumbnail"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5273","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5273"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5273\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5308,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5273\/revisions\/5308"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5273"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5273"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/solaceinabook.com\/site\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5273"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}