Really? You Want to Conceal Your Cleavage?

So I haven't been over here for a little while again. I've been busy over there, at

xsentertainme.wordpress.com

But a tweet today from my stylish friend over at stylingyou.com.au caught my attention.

You can clearly see that she is gorgeous and savvy and intelligent AND has had Denise Daffara paint her (I wish Denise Daffara would paint me. Then you know you've made it).

Ordinarily, I believe every word this woman tweets.

But today I couldn't reply, I couldn't even retweet. I know! I was, I think, in too much shock.

I also think, that by posting this, I will be shouted down, by feminist friends and strangers who all firmly believe in their right to choose how they present themselves (and I'm gonna catch you out on that one, ladies; do read on) and that the Bstring is the best thing to hit the boutiques since Foot Cushions.

Let me start by saying that I understand there are occasions (or families or churches or schools) who/that don't appreciate your bountiful cleavage. I GET IT, I DO. But honestly? As much as I admire the ingenuity of the product and wish I'd thought of it (because y'all are gonna buy it now that Nikki's tweeted it) - is it not, almost pretty literally in fact - a band aid solution for a larger (no pun intended there either), ongoing societal issue we seem to have with...wait for it...women's bodies?!??

The Bstring appears to be, as it claims, an ingenious invention. However, simply by appearing in the marketplace, it may also help to perpetuate the conservative view that we should cover up and be ashamed of our feminine shape. I know! I'm a drama queen and I like to play Devil's Advocate to boot! So sue me! This device/accessory/whatever reminds me of breastfeeding-ridiculous-modesty-scarves and certain very topical religious attire, neither of which we will address today for various reasons (time management issues, a distinct lack of recent research on my part,fear of the vampires, of crucifixion or a public stoning).....

We are so confused about our culture, aren't we, Australia? We are over-advised, over-diagnosed, over-medicated and politically correct to the point of ludicrousness. Now we are covering up again?! AND ON THE SUNSHINE COAST WHERE WE STILL HAVE A BIKINI GIRL GRACING PAGE 3 OF THE LOCAL PAPER?!??

Far be it from me to comment on whom they put in the paper - or on the front of it - these days.

But am I in the minority here?

"An ingenious invention...so those low cut tops don’t appear so low cut."

I'm afraid this begs a couple of obvious questions:

• Should we not be buying tops and dresses that are not cut quite so low as to make us feel uncomfortable? And by uncomfortable, I don't mean as per my mantra, which is not actually mine at all but which I crazily, happily adopted the first time I bleached my hair platinum blonde and put on stilettos to sell cigarettes, er, I mean fragrance: "Beauty is pain." I mean: falling out of said tops and dresses and/or being ogled at by men! GASP! And by women! SHOCK! And by - eek - children! HORROR! Since when did this become okay anyway and indeed, so prevalent that we require a solution other than shopping for clothes that FIT and FLATTER our figures?!

AND

• Should we not be continuing to teach our daughters to dress well and develop a great self-image, to be proud and confident in their bodies, in clothes that fit well and make them feel fabulous? Should we not be inviting genuine compliments from men, other women and children? Don't start with me on the children comments either. My four year old daughter, whom you know well if you followed this blog from the beginning although may have been wondering about more recently, having been breastfed and spoken with honestly (and encouraged to use the correct body part names, something I feel really strongly about, however; I'm about to disclose the classic quote that blows my theory about this outta the water), said proudly to me the other day, "Mama, I love your boobs. Your boobs look beautiful today!" Yes, I was wearing a LOW CUT TOP. IT MADE ME FEEL GREAT. I feel sure I'm repeating myself when I say, IF IT DON'T FIT DON'T WEAR IT.

Of course I don't doubt that there is a teensy-weensy possibility that I am missing the point in all of this. I guess women have the right to choose to shop poorly and attach ingenious inventions to make amends for their ill-informed decisions ("You look GREEEAT!" - shop assistant, friend, mother. Wait. Not mother. Mother always tells the truth - "Yes, dear, your boobs look big in that. We never wore anything like that when I was your age.")*

I guess now we have a choice. Another choice. Did I mention we are over-laden with choices?

Christine Jackson believes in the benefits of her invention, having created it for good not evil. But I feel we have to be more open about the issues behind the motivations of sales figures and marketing strategy and the media advising us. As women, we are SO insecure. The next generation deserve some of the answers to the questions we've been asking.

Girls, if the way you look or dress makes somebody else feel uncomfortable, don't hang with them. (ah but careful; I'm not saying you have the right to disrespect other people's house rules, or the school dress standards, no matter how antiquated and sexist they may seem. Make that choice to be there or not). We must continue to choose well: what we wear and the views and attitudes we model and, intentionally or not, pass onto our daughters and share with our friends. And make sure we share them with the boyfriends too. And boys-who-are-friends and husbands, brothers, uncles, nephews...they won't get it until we do. There's a whole other post in that.....

As women with big boobs and many low-cut styling options, including now, the Bstring, and living in a complicated and rarely really openly and honestly discussed rape culture, that is the best choice we can make. To make a good choice about how we present ourselves to the world, with confidence and without intentionally offending anybody else. That is all. I thank you.

*I can't back that up. That bit about my mother. And that Grease clip. It was a little obscure ("Beauty is pain"). The facts are that my mother never played Rizzo (that was me) and she wore bikinis to most events, if the photographs are anything to go by. That must have been Somebody Else's mother speaking.