Why I Stopped Wearing a Bra and Started Hiring a Boob Boy

Like lots of women, I started wearing a bra at age 13 and I never stopped to ask why. Even at that age, it was unconsciously a given that the “unruliness” of my female body needed to be hidden or at least transformed into something society deemed acceptable. Many years later, I finally had the time and the means to interrogate these arbitrary social norms – and that’s exactly when I stopped wearing a bra and hired a full-time boob boy instead. Here’s why:


Before we even get into the absurdity of the idea that breasts have to look a certain way to be “appropriate”, let’s address a more obvious truth: Bras are uncomfortable! Whether it’s an underwire or tight straps, dealing with these contraptions every day can be annoying and even painful. With my boob boy, the fellow I employed to run around gently holding up my tits for me, I never have to worry about those inconveniences. And when I get home after a long day, I may not get the satisfaction of taking off my bra, but I do get to say, “Thank you, boob boy. That will be all,” and watch him scurry away, which is also pretty satisfying.


Breasts are a natural part of many human bodies. Senseless, patriarchal conventions have made women feel like their nipples are some sort of secret that must be hidden at all costs, but that’s yet another thing I stopped worrying about when I made the switch from bra to boob boy. Now my nipples are fairly visible, which is my prerogative, but also no one seems to notice because they are too distracted by the fact that a dutiful young man is standing beside me supporting my yabbos with his hands.


If that isn’t feminism, I don’t know what is.


Breasts are not there for men’s gaze or approval. They are both incredible and casual; they’re a part of the body and they sustain human life. I myself don’t plan on having children, but they are sustaining boob boy’s life by way of the pay check I give him to hold them firm and steady eight hours a day. Though, a lot of that has gone to his uniform (full tuxedo) that I told him he had to supply if he wanted the job. This is feminism also.


So wear a bra, don’t wear a bra, do whatever — but do it for you. I for one am existing unapologetically in the world, and everywhere I go, I demand a plus-three: my two knockers and my boob boy. Amen.