No, I do not.

a-different-type-of-pretty:

brodingershat:

pimperious-condescension:

I’m a grade 12 in high school who just happens to wear a K-cup bra. I live a fairly normal high school existence, except for the fact that my bust size often gets me in trouble with teachers, especially female teachers.

Now, my school has a uniform that involves a blouse. Being a busty person, I need to undo three buttons in order to have it fit right without it being undone to below my breasts. Even then, it’s a bit of a stretch. There is literally no way to disguise my breasts. Even when I’ve bound them for crossplay, they still look like really large pectoral muscles. I’m also really confident with my body, so I don’t see why I should have to hide what my body looks like at school.

So you can imagine how angry it makes me when a teacher pulls me aside and whispers “you need to do your top up,” as if my life depended on it.

“You know what? You need to mind your own business,” is what I want to say.

Most of my bras don’t push my breasts together that much, anyway, so most of the time, you’ll see my sternum before any cleavage. If you’re so offended by a bone that protects the heart or a whopping whole inch of two bags of fat on either side of it, then I suggest you get a life.

The way the neckline of my blouse is cut also covers the centre of my bra (most of the time), and I have to either spread it apart (like in the picture), sit or kneel below someone, or lean forward for anyone to actually see it.

Now, notice the little white bow right at the top of the bra’s centre in the picture. Most bras have some little ornamentation there, like a bow or a crystal.

I think that’s there in case the bra accidentally peeks out from a shirt or dress; to make it look pretty as opposed to something with a purely industrial purpose. It almost glorifies the sternum and the rest of the bra, which is how I think every inch of someone’s body should be treated.

Bras don’t see anything offensive about a bone that shields the heart.

Bras are smarter than people.

One of my cousins hit puberty in the second grade.

She had an hourglass figure by the time she entered middle school. 

Her first boyfriend thought she was just a bigger girl until the first time they went swimming together, because she’d gotten into the habit of wearing huge sweaters- even in the middle of summer, which can get hot enough to warrant heatstroke warnings- to try to disguise her chest.

This is because everywhere she turned, she was painted as a deviant, sexually promiscuous and attention-seeking youth. She started babysitting for a family friend when she was twelve, and grown women stared in open disapproval when she took the little boy out in his stroller for some fresh air. Men started catcalling at her and approaching her on the street when she was barely thirteen. Teachers looked down on her despite her uniformly excellent grades. Parents of friends immediately pointed to her as a bad influence when things went wrong, despite her immaculate record of just generally being a sensible sort of girl. She had very few female friends, and most of her high school peers assumed that she was sexually involved with most, if not all, of her many male friends. She never was. 

This needs to stop.

This isn’t a fanservice video game where you get to choose cup size and bounciness before you start a round. This is real life. Unless she resorts to surgery, the amount of tissue a girl carries on her chest is completely outside of her control, and has nothing to do with her personality, abilities, or achievements.

Stop demonizing breasts. They’re just breasts.

From the barest bump to the cup that runneth over, a breast is a breast, and it should never be an object of shame.

She who carries the chest in question wasn’t doing anything shameful.

But if you feel the need to shame her, you were.

Fucking THANK YOU.

This makes me so angry.  There comes a point in my life where I just fucking have to stop caring about what people say about my breasts.  I wore a dress that revealed quite a lot of cleavage in a Jessica Rabbit cosplay, and I shouldn’t have felt ashamed.  BUT YOU KNOW WHAT?  I DID.  Because people’s comments about the two damn balls of fat hanging off of my ribs made me feel less than human.  Do you think I stuffed my boobs with whipped cream or something to give you a view?  Did I ASK for back problems, or the feeling of being watched when I wear anything other than an oversized sweatshirt?  Nope.

I get that it’s all fun and games, but when my softball team last year joked about using me as a distraction so they could play a prank on the boy’s baseball team by having me strip and run across the field, I should have been offended.  But I wasn’t.  Y’know why?  Because I felt like an object, rather than a person, and an object shouldn’t have any complaints about how other people view it.  I go (went) along with a lot of shit, just because.  

Why should girls with heavier fat-sacks on their chest feel like an object or target for slut-shaming?  I’m not going to change the way I move or dress just so that you idiots feel less “offended” by my body.  It is my fucking body.  I can be as proud of it as I want.  If that offends you, GTFO.  I’m not going to go out of my way to be inappropriate  so you don’t have to go out of your way to be inappropriate to me.  Comments like “nice view” and “prostitute” are really fucking unwelcome, and people who make those types of assumptions or remarks will be treated accordingly.  More than likely with twenty pounds of sass along with it.

(Source: genoflydersyolo)