Never Underestimate the Power of a Push-Up Bra

I’m late to the party on this one, but apparently men like breasts. Shocking, I know. All those Victoria’s Secret catalogs should have been a clue.

If you have small breasts, as I do, you’re actually at an advantage over those busty broads. You have more options. You can live with them the way they are (some men even profess to prefer the smaller variety, but they are mostly liars); you can have augmentation surgery; or you can wear bras with strategically placed foam, water, or silicone inserts.

First option – think Kate Hudson. She rocks the flat chest, no? If you are young and haven’t breast fed, the braless, nipple-showcasing look can work. However, it’s not for everyone. More women opt for implants. In fact, lately, it seems that everyone I meet has them. I don’t live in L.A., or even Texas, and yet here I am surrounded by baggies in bras. Why all the fake breasts? Refer to my opening.

Anyway, a lot of my friends have been encouraging me to have my breasts done. Everywhere I go, perfect, round tits taunt me. And they could be mine too, in any number of easy payments. But I resist for several reasons. First there is always a risk when going under anesthesia. I’d hate for my husband to have to explain to the kids how Mommy had a heart attack on the table because she wanted men to notice her chest.

Aside from my irrational fear of death by face mask, there is a more practical reason I opt out of saline or silicon. They don’t last forever. It was huge news to me when a forty-something friend told me that she was having hers replaced. Replaced. Like an A/C unit. Turns out breast implants need updating every twenty years or so. I’m forty now. To face another surgery at 60, and then again at 80? (Because who doesn’t want to be hot in the halls of the nursing home?) Thanks, but no thanks.

You may have figured it out by now. I am a fan of the push-up bra. It is the best of all worlds. You can be ballerina-flat-and-perky in a tank top one minute, and busting out like a corseted stripper the next. For years I resisted the push-up because, as a small-breasted woman, I always felt the foamy look was false chest integrity. I reserved cheater bras for special occasions. Anniversaries, New Years’, slutty Halloween costumes. Then I got over it. I bought a few and started experimenting. You know, NOT on holidays. I watched men turn stupid in a way my A-cups had never inspired. I was ogled; I liked it. And then I took off my pretend boobies and went for a run.

Ladies: if you doubt the power of a push-up bra, take yourself down to the nearest discount retailer. (My latest acquisition set me back $5.99.) Pick up a lacy camisole to accent your faux cleavage. Then go somewhere, anywhere, and observe human behavior.

Men: you are being deceived. Enjoy.

Now, if only I can find a push-up bikini top for the lake this summer, I will be a happy woman.