Getting It Off My Chest: The Mid Boob Life
Melons, tits, boobs, breasts, chesticles – whatever you call them, mid-sized boob problems are very real.
In terms of the boob spectrum, I, myself, am cursed – or blessed, depending on who you ask – with size 34DD boobs, and thus I occupy the middle ground between a small ‘handful’, and enormous knockers. I’m often told my boobs are “just the right size.” Well, I beg to differ. When your boobs aren’t absolutely massive (but are simultaneously definitely not small) you face a whole host of problems unique to those of us refused membership to both the Itty Bitty Titty Committee and the Big Boobed Bitches Brigade.
From my experience, a lot of my struggles would be alleviated if only my boobs decided which side they are on. In some ways, I kind of still feel like I’m going through puberty, and that my boobs will come into their own soon enough. Though realistically, this is unfeasible, and I should probably just start learning to love the awkward, podgy humps on my chest for what they are…
…but not until I’ve milked them (geddit) for the sake of creating content for my mid-boobed sisters.
1. Nothing ever fits you properly. Ever.
From working in retail for a period longer than I am inclined to admit, I’ve come to the solid conclusion that all clothes are made for one of two types of people: super-slim, petite laydeez and curvy babes.
The thing is, you might be a size 8 all over, but thanks to your obnoxiously middle-sized boobs, you look bigger than you are, and as a result, anything that is actually your size just won’t accommodate your boobage. For this reason, you are forced to go one – or even two – sizes up, leaving your body looking like something akin to a sad, deflating balloon.
And you can forget anything backless. If your boobs are anything like mine, they’ll sit apart, as if they desperately dislike each other. You’ll need a bra just to bring them together, as, without one, they’ll just sit facing in opposite directions out of sheer disdain for one another. These are sisters slighted, and no backless, strapless ‘impossible’ bra is going to reunite them.
2. Your bras aren’t necessarily ugly, but they’re just unexcitedly plain.
Once you exceed the C-cup rank, it’s generally advised that you get your bras properly fitted. I have been professionally measured several times now, and this alone has never been shy of an ordeal. It’s always the same: I’ll remove my top and stand in the changing room baring all my mid-sized boobs in all the, urm, glory, my either too-big or too-tight Primark bra will allow, with the sales assistant proceeds to wrap a tape measure around my chest whilst making stilted chit chat for the sake of making me feel ‘comfortable’.
Whilst I appreciate her good intentions, this is never a setting in which I will feel at ease.
Once my size has been established, she’ll disappear and return to present me with a wide array of options “specially designed to complement a bust of my size.” And by ‘wide array’ I mean two options. A plain-Jane t-shirt bra available in black or nude. I’ll reluctantly hand over £30 for a bra that, whilst it doesn’t quite slip into granny bra territory, is definitely not sexy in the slightest. Sigh.
3. When it comes to exercise, there’s no winning.
If you thought finding a regular bra was hard enough, wait until you come to find a sports bra.
So, you’ve decided to commit yourself on a journey of self-betterment that involves going to the gym every other day, with each session involving some kind of treadmill-based cardio. Running, in general, isn’t a particularly enjoyable experience. Running with mid-sized boobs with the accepted knowledge that you are definitely not wearing the right kind of sports bra for it? Especially hellish.
The reality is that the standard racer-back crop top style sports bras are about as supportive as your ex, and the professional standard plus-sized sports bras don’t come in your size. Even if they did, their price point is totally outrageous and what would be the point in paying that when you know that, realistically, you’re probably going to give up on your fitness regime soon enough due to simple lack of motivation and/or because you can’t bear the pain of your boobs jumping up and down with every step.
If you do miraculously keep up with the gym, you’ll settle for your unsupportive Nike sports bra and somehow try to hold them discretely as you run.
Also; boob sweat.
4. Sleeping on your chest is a pain.
Literally.
In an ironic turn in my sad existence, my preferred sleeping position is corpse pose. However, despite common misconceptions that my boobs are pillow-soft, sleeping on my front is generally mildly painful at best. However, I just can’t seem to drift off without stuffing my face into my pillow, and so night on night I endure the slight discomfort in pursuit of the sweet release of sleep.
5. You don’t quite qualify for a breast reduction
Joking aside, depending on your body frame, your rack-to-back ratio can be way off. In my case, I get off pretty lucky, as I’m pretty well-proportioned, but that’s not to say I’ve not experienced the exasperation of indentations on my shoulders from my bra straps, and – in the summer – a lovely bit of heat rash in and around the boob-grooves. Unfortunately, us mid-boobed girls don’t qualify for boob reduction on the NHS, and when it comes to the cost of private cosmetic surgery, I wouldn’t give my right boob for it.
