I vividly remember being 10 years old when my mom’s older sister paid us a visit from America and surprised me with some training bras among other gifts. Just like the rest of her presents, she picked out the bras with a nonchalant air. But, before she could even present them, my mom’s reaction was a sight to behold—a mix of astonishment and embarrassment that prompted her to whisk my aunt away for a private chat.
From my vantage point, I could overhear their conversation. My mom, clearly flustered, attempted to explain to my aunt, in a somewhat agitated manner, that I had no need for training bras. Despite my aunt’s earnest efforts to extol their benefits, my mom remained resolute. It was evident that her discomfort wasn’t just about the bras; it was about the unspoken territory of “womanhood” that she had yet to navigate with her daughter.
My mom had plenty of opinions on everything else under the sun, but conversations like these seemed to bring out a palpable discomfort, quickly followed by a hushed end. Finally, my mom decided to take the bras away and hide them deep within the confines of her cupboard.
Little did she know, her daughter was always one step ahead, particularly when it came to matters that made adults squirm in embarrassment around their kids. I found myself captivated by those bras, and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated that my mom had hidden them away before I could even get a proper look. I made a mental note to wait for our guest to leave and for my mom to forget about this episode entirely before making my move to retrieve them.
I managed to acquire all of them and took them into the washroom, examining each piece with excitement. There were five to six bras, each a different colour—grey, cream, black, blue, and white. They felt soft as summer cotton with delicate elastic at the ends. It was an enthralling realization that these bras symbolized my impending journey into womanhood.
Thus began my first act of pre-teen rebellion. I hid the set of training bras in my toy cupboard, the one place my mom was sure not to check. On days when I would be at home, likely without supervision, I would sneakily retrieve one and wear it for a few hours before my mom noticed. I resolved not to tell anyone about my little bra endeavours, not even my friends, fearing they wouldn’t understand my eagerness to embrace puberty.
There was something about that act that brought me closer to womanhood and adult femininity, as if I were undergoing a transformation, if only for a short time. Designed for my yet-to-sprout chest, the bras offered a subtle support, hinting at the breasts that would soon emerge. A training bra, unlike a regular bra, lacks heavy padding and broad straps. Training bras are often made of lightweight cotton with a touch of elastic for flexibility. The colors and designs are more playful and less intricate, tailored to a young girl’s developing body rather than the fuller support and more complex designs of adult bras. It felt like I was trading in a piece of childhood innocence for a glimpse of adolescence, and I was ready to make that trade.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, I slipped into my favourite from the bunch. It stood out as the only colourful option, featuring a pale blue body with narrow, rainbow-coloured straps sprouting from it. However, I was soon caught by my mom who had noticed what I was wearing underneath. Cue the interrogation and disbelieve! How dare I sneak them out? According to her, my physique wasn’t ready for such things yet. She promptly instructed me to hand over all the remaining bras, promising that she’d decide when the time was right for me to wear them.
I found myself sulking, longing for some overnight miracle that would magically return my stash. But the thought of puberty creeping closer and the prospect of wearing them to school in the near future kept me eagerly waiting.
I did start wearing them two years later, although I was a late bloomer when it came to experiencing the full effects of puberty, constantly disappointed by my less-than-mature breasts. It felt like I entered high school without truly needing regular bras, a training bra seemed to suffice. During that period, there were times when I yearned for fuller breasts, as if their presence indicated something about being desired, exuding sensuality. Everywhere I looked, it seemed I found myself admiring women with fuller breasts. At the same time, I was navigating my desire for women long before I even learned about other possible sexualities.
I indulged my desires and overcompensated for my earlier thwarted wishes by purchasing all sorts of bras throughout high-school and initial semesters of college (even if I didn’t need them)—cute and colourful bow bras, padded bras, lacy bralettes, and fussy sports bras. However, I soon realised that having fuller breasts was fine, but tucking them into a bra could be incredibly uncomfortable. Wearing a bra became a disappointing and painful endeavour, and the more my breasts grew, the more I longed to free them from the confines of bras.
When I enrolled at an all-girls’ college for my undergrad, I found myself not only physically surrounded by women but also immersed in vast theories and discussions on gender and sexuality. There I observed women who were confident in their sexuality and how they chose to express or not express their femininity.
The young woman within me finally found a voice within and outside that space. I began to realize that my relationship with my breasts and sexuality didn’t have to be dictated by a garment that brought me discomfort.
They might work for myriad others and losing bras might be a terrifying prospect for some, however, for me, bras came with a heavy load of expectations. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I never resembled those fuller models advertising bras, and that was one of the reasons I often felt disappointed by my own body and its development. I also realized that sometimes bras unnecessarily sexualized my breasts when I didn't want to be sexualized. The more I concealed something that was a part of me, the more it became an object of curiosity to be peeked at, and this frustrated me. The rebel pre-teen inside me longed to control my own sexualization, to exercise my own authority, with consent, and by those I wished to be intimate with.
Thus, I began to toy with the idea of renouncing the bra altogether and understand how I wanted to display my gender. I started experimenting by attending classes without a bra, wearing a scarf, and investing in thick cotton kurtis instead of flimsy synthetic blouses to avoid any visible traces.
And eventually, I grew accustomed to the idea of my nipples sometimes showing underneath my clothing. Gradually, it seemed like the world also grew accustomed to how I carried myself. Now, I feel more confident embracing the natural movement and shape of my breasts, and I am comfortable sexualizing them when I am with my intimate partners. This confidence helps me navigate my day-to-day life without constantly worrying about being objectified by default.
Although at times, I can't help but think it offers peepers an even better view. But that is a trade I am willing to make now.”
Fizapreet is a counseling psychologist based in Bangalore. She is queer and polyamorous, and is on a mission to squeeze in more time for poetry, writing, and creating art.
