Having huge boobs isn’t as great as you think

Having big boobs arguably makes me the dream of many men and the envy of many women. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve been told I’m “lucky” or “blessed”, but having big boobs can actually be a huge pain. Honestly, sometimes it feels much more like a curse than a blessing.

I started wearing a bra when I was 10 – not because I wanted to feel grown-up, but because I genuinely needed one. By the time I was in Year 8, I was wearing a 32C – and they just kept on growing. When they stopped, I was wearing a 30GG.

Consent is key

I spent a lot of time when I was younger playing this up, the lower-cut and tighter the better. However, it got tiring very quickly.

A simple trip into town in summer in a vest-top and shorts resulted in me getting shouted at by men in vans 10 times. Having customers tell you what they would like to do to you during your part-time job is never appealing, especially when they’re three times your age. Wearing a bikini made me feel like a walking advert – and no, it is never okay to ask someone if their boobs are real.

I don’t know in what world people think it is acceptable to grab any part of a stranger’s body, however having to deal with this on nights out has genuinely put me off clubbing. My boobs are not for some creep to touch.

Yes, the occasional free drinks or not needing to take a bag on a night out is a plus – as is the fact that I can hide a 500ml bottle down there provided I’m wearing a slightly loose fitting top. There’s no real worry about getting alcohol into festivals, and it’s a pretty useful and impressive party trick. Stick a straw in the top and I’m good to go all night, hands-free.

Who needs a hipflask?

There are a few benefits – I won’t pretend there aren’t, and I know anyone I’ve slept with probably agrees. But for me, as the owner of huge boobs, the negatives definitely outweigh the positives.

Try buying a bra from any high street store: H&M stop at a D cup, Topshop – no way, Victoria’s Secret – it’s unlikely. I can get the occasional one in a flattering and exciting nude or white from M&S generally with about one-inch straps. So I end up in the specialist bra shops – the ones that charge around £30 for one bra. Having big boobs is an expensive attribute, especially when I have to wear two sports bras just to be able to run.

I am yet to find a sports bras that can adequately strap the girls down and whilst they all give me a fab cleavage: the amount of boob sweat is obscene. You have never felt truly disgusting until you have the equivalent of Niagara Falls down the middle of your breasts, or getting back from the cinema and finding a melted revel, a handful of popcorn, and that earring you lost two weeks ago.

Clothing options are also severely limiting. I see all you edgy girls in nice backless tops or halter-necks, but there’s no point even trying. Sadly, anything above about a D cup has far too much sag and bounce for that to be a feasible option. Not to mention the fact that I can barely manage the stairs braless, let alone seven hours shuffling at Beaverworks.

Maybe something a bit more covered up? If I wear a turtleneck I look like I have a small child stuck down my top, and it’s pretty shameful going to an interview in a nice buttoned-up shirt and discovering half way through that the buttons have gaped and you’ve just shown the interviewer your boobs. Nice and professional.

Two years ago, I made the decision to get a boob reduction. It was a big step, but necessary due to my horrific back pain and general low self-esteem from most my clothes either looking like tents, or like they’d been spray-painted on.

Post-reduction

I expected to come out a nice 32D – a handful, but no more than that – and I did. For about two months. And then they started growing again – an unstoppable force of nature. So after two surgeries, serious infections, months of healing and only wearing sports bras – I am about a cup size smaller than I was to start with.

I don’t regret getting it done: any reduction in size is welcome, and I am saving up to get it done again. Even if it didn’t make a huge difference, the change in my confidence and body image was worth it.

What shocked me though is the comments I got when I told people I was getting it done. I was repeatedly told it was a shame or a waste or why in the hell would I get that done. People seemed very concerned about what my boyfriend would think – despite not having, or ever wanting, a boyfriend.

My boob reduction was framed in what it would mean for men, when it was something I was getting done because of physical pain that was having a huge effect on my life and on my mental wellbeing – and maybe partially the dream of wearing a backless dress.

I get it, big boobs are nice to look at – but a lot of the time they’re a real inconvenience.