Hey,
Do you remember when you first became conscious of your bras and underwear? Like you wanted to wear something sexier or nicer than the Fruit of the Loom ones your mom bought you at Target or whatever? I hit that milestone waaaaaay later than you did, I promise.
Are you ready?
No, really.
I was wearing granny panties deep into my 30s, and bras that didn’t fit almost as long.
I know! That’s hot. 💅
I was a major magazine Editor-in-Chief. I was in head-to-toe designer clothes Every. Single. Day. And despite all my self-professed ‘ho-ing around, I was weirdly so confident with myself that I never felt the need to dress up my goods. Was it confidence? My college boyfriend never even mentioned my undergarments and we were together for almost 5 years so I guess that helped keep it off my radar, too.
But I think the roots of my ambivalence go to back to – you guessed it - jazz hands, everybody - childhood. My body kicked in pretty early. At age 12, my body (and trust me, only my body!) kind looked like a hot super model. I suspect this made my mom uncomfortable or was it a sign she didn’t notice me? Who knows. But she literally never mentioned getting a bra. So imagine me with my 32C cup ta-tas at age 12 walking around camp and school braless. I noticed other girls with much smaller breasts wearing bras but because of the sexual abuse that was going on in the background of my life, I was just too shame-filled to talk to my mother about getting one. For me, it took on a sexual undertone…as though I was asking for contraception. So, I just kind of blocked it out as perhaps something richer people wore and went on my way. I was uncomfortable with the male attention I got from the college-aged counselors at day camp when I wore my swimsuit but I was also kind of fascinated with it – this weird power my body, and specifically my breasts, seemed to have.
Perhaps that’s why I orchestrated this little ensemble for Field Day in 6th grade: I bought a tiny heathered gray Nike “half shirt” as they were called back then, and of course all my shorts were little short shorts because I had shot up and was pretty skinny. My vision was to have that half shirt with just a hint of my breasts showing from the bottom of the shirt. I had never seen that look before, but it was certainly the beginning of the sexualization of Atoosa in terms of my clothing. But so interesting that the whole vision for my outfit revolved around my not having a bra: This very simple and necessary undergarment my mother just wasn’t ready to acknowledge that I needed. I worked around her discomfort. 😎
The first time I got an indication that my undergarments were not as fully baked as the rest of me: I was separated from my husband and dating a major fashion retail CEO who was considerably older than me. Funny side note: He was always trying to get me to dodge the high-end avant guard designers I preferred wearing (Like Comme de Garçon and Martin Margiela) in favor of mainstream brands that his big retail company sold in an effort to mold me into the “right” partner. He eventually realized no one molds me but me and we went our separate ways. Ironically, he married the next girl he dated, and she was blindfolded throughout the creation of her wedding dress which he designed with Vera Wang. Romantic? Controlling? You decide, but you can see why he and I weren’t a match. One thing he said that really did land, though. He suggested I go to some woman in one of his store’s Intimates section (Intimates – I wonder if they still call that section Intimates 👵🏼). He said, “Let her fit you for bras. I think your bras are too small.” At that point, I was 30 and I don’t think I had really thought about my bra size since college and honestly, I had never actually gotten measured. When I was younger, the idea of a strange woman touching my breasts was just too intrusive so I would just go to a store and try on bras until I kind felt like I had the right size: A remaining vestige of not having done this rite of passage with my mother at the appropriate time. Wonderbra was my bra of choice back then. I already had big perky boobs, who knows why I wanted to jack them up even higher, but come on…we know why. 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻
I got my new bra size (34 C) and my new brand, Wacoal (at the time). But still, I didn’t feel the need to dress up my body for a man. So when one Christmas, after that, my husband gave me like 20 boxes from Victoria’s Secret, I returned every single one. I found the “silky” aka polyester fabrics just weird and uncomfortable. And honestly, I had no desire to dress uncomfortably for him. Hard pass. No thank you.
Years later, after I stopped working, my husband tried again. He had recently cheated on me, so I was a little emotionally battered and, as such, perhaps more open to pleasing him. This time, we went to La Perla. He spent thousands and thousands of dollars on everything from lingerie sets to nightgowns and even a body suit made from silver feathers! It all looked AMAZING in the fitting room, so I walked out of the store with lots of bags.
Once again, I wore none of it.
I made one more attempt at sexy lingerie after I got separated from my husband in 2020. I thought maybe I just didn’t want to put a show on for that particular guy. I got some Agent Provocateur (def more up my alley) and Fleur du Mal (thank you, Instagram) in my current 34 DDD/34 E size. What I noticed about what I bought this time around was that it was all much more comfortable and my version of sexy (I like simple shapes that are see-through 🤷🏻♀️). Feeling like my undergarments are flossing my ass, does not put me in the mood. And it’s funny, out of the two boyfriends I had, one never noticed if I wore nice lingerie (🐻) and the other kind of noticed too much and it made me feel too objectified so I actually resisted wearing anything special for him.
Today, I’m back with Sweet Yogini. He literally couldn’t care less what I wear as long as I love him sweetly. And honestly? That feels just right for me. My underwear wardrobe is truly a uniform. I have 6 of the exact same Victoria’s Secret bra in nude and black and a zillion Victoria’s Secret cotton hip huggers (black for during the day and fun prints for bedtime). I have two nude thongs that I dread wearing but do so when the outfit necessitates. And okay, I have a few Agent Provocateur and Fleur Du Mal sets for when I’m feeling inspired. I wore one the other night, and he didn’t notice or care. (Did you notice, baby?) But, I have my eye on a new Fleur du Mal set I will order for next weekend. (Editor’s Note: It’s ordered). I’ve been wanting this one for like a year and they finally have my size back in stock. Who knew 34E was the new 34C but I guess when you’re shopping on the right site, it is. And when you’re shopping for the right man, it’s fun.
Paid subscribers can scroll down to see the staples in my lingerie drawer including the work out bra that changed my life. Please comment below if you’ve discovered any game changing underwear! Although I’ve been wearing my staples for about a decade now, this is a topic I don’t ever talk to other people about and I’d love to learn more! Here for you, 24/7, as always at atoosa@atoosa.com.
xo, atoosa
Soundtrack of my breasts 😉:
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