“Oh, great, it’s the braless wonder. Who does she think she’s kidding? Look at her; she’s totally out of control.”
– Elaine in the 1996 “Seinfeld” episode where she runs into her high school friend-turned-nemesis, Sue Ellen Mischke.
It’s time to end the cover-up. Call TMZ for a full exposé.
In this age of alternative facts, I’m compelled to come clean: I’ve gone braless for months. That’s right. A regular bra hurts my scar; even a running bra is uncomfortable enough to make me gag.
Not surprisingly, in French a bra is called a soutien-gorge (literally, “throat-supporter”). Early versions resembled a camisole stiffened with boning. Sign me up.
(Gentlemen, you may stop reading here. But you’ll likely regret it.)
I’m not wearing a bra while typing this at my kitchen table. No one cares. Not even the dog. Don’t judge me. We all have our secrets. Some are more uplifting.
Truth is, since my May 31 mitral valve repair surgery, I like having “the girls” roam free. It’s liberating, exhilarating and really, really … comfortable. Depending on the occasion, I wear a cotton tank top under a T-shirt or a sleeveless camisole under a button-down shirt or blazer.
This fashion naturally makes me think of “Nonna,” my Italian grandmother, who was always cold, even in the summer, and wore what she called “flanellas” under her simple housedresses and little pink sweater. I am my Nonna.
In case you’re new to this planet, here’s the reason bras rub me the wrong way:
To fix a leaky mitral valve, my surgeon performed a thoracotomy. It was his Plan C, given that he couldn’t do (a) the sternotomy (because I had one in 2001) or (b) the less-invasive side incision (see previous reason plus, too much scar tissue).
So, I’m not only a Zipper Club member, but I’m also on Team Thoracotomy, sporting a half-moon sideways “C” on my back about the length of a medium turkey sub under my right shoulder blade. It ends directly east of my right breast, punctuated by two round smudges that once housed drainage tubes.
You won’t find any backless gowns with plunging necklines in my closet. Shoes and a few skeletons, maybe. But I digress.
While researching the subject of going braless, I found that ditching them actually has some scientifically-backed benefits. In fact, a 15-year study in 2013 by a sports science expert from the University of Besançon, France, found that wearing a bra does more harm than good. It won’t reduce back pain and weakens the breast muscles, resulting in greater sagging. That’s right. Your breasts will actually sag less if you don’t wear a bra because not wearing one exercises muscles on both sides of your chest. Who knew?
Along with more lift and comfort, the study concluded you’ll have better posture, not to mention more money in your pocket since you don’t have to buy bras.
Historically, as crowd-pleasers and all-around nice gals, women have bowed to pressures of societal expectations. Wear this harness, and you’ll look perky. Can you imagine if men were forced to wear tighty-whities instead of boxers? No, you cannot. Because they wouldn’t.
These days YouTube has an entire section of videos called, “Why I Don’t Wear a Bra,” where bold, busty millennials mock those repressive over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders with tweets under #freetheboobs on Twitter. One video had nearly 6 million views!
With that, I’m confident at my age, I will make no apologies for going braless. This is not a third-world problem.
And then there’s German scientist Otto Titzling, who supposedly invented the bra, until Frenchman Philippe de Brassiere stole Otto’s idea in 1912. Even Bette Midler sang about it.
“The result of this swindle is pointedly clear: Do you buy a titsling, or do you buy a brassiere?”
Granted, the Divine Miss M’s song was based on a fictional character in a 1971 book. Yet the story remains rather uplifting.
