Get it off my chest

It’s not very often that I wear an outfit from the beginning of the working day right through to the end without becoming tired of it, uncomfortable in it, or self-conscious about it. I don’t know why, it just seems that what looks good in my bedroom at 8am looks naff in the lift at work at 9.34am and plain try-hard in the toilets at 12.49pm, and just scruffy by 5.37pm when I glimpse myself in a shop window. Such is life, I suppose - that’s what you get for being fickle and far from a fashion queen.

Today was an exception. I wore a very bargainous pale denim pocketed smock dress with an outsize grey cardi all tied up with a pale blue vintage belt. Black opaque and black patent wedges rounded things up. It was sunny today so it was a nice day. A feeling fine in a swing my arms/don’t mind the walk from the station/feel chirpy even in Tesco kind of way.*

When I was almost home, two young-ish chaps (how old does that make me sound? Allow me to clarify, I’m twenty-two and they were probably not much more youthful) walked past me in the other direction and one of them offered, ‘Nice tits.’ Hmmph. Now that’s not a mood-enhancer, whichever way you look at it. I suppose, really, it is a compliment but I just find it annoying, not to mention vaguely embarrassing. To me, the real insult is the reductive nature of the comment. It makes me feel like this is all I am, breasts. Maybe they are nice but how about my carefully put together outfit? Expensive haircut? Lips? Face? Handbag? Hey, wait - brain?

Let’s face it, this chap couldn’t care less about my brain and nor would he ever get the chance to find out. There’s the rub. If he really thinks I have nice tits what is even the point in saying anything? It isn’t going to get him anywhere. I tried to reverse the situation and wondered about what might happen if I walked past a guy on the street and commented on his bum, for example. I rather think the reaction might be amusement, a little confusion and certainly an ego boost. So what is it about women and breasts?

I think us girls have a strange relationship with our bosoms. Yes, they’re symbols of womanhood but they are also very tied up with what men like and desire to gain from women (whether sex or children or porn). Actually, I love mine but I didn’t grin and say thanks and share information about favourite bras and flattering necklines with this young gentleman, as I may have done if a woman had said the same. It seems as though breasts have become the page three symbol of male to female sexual attraction. If a man remarks upon them it’s almost as if he is crossing a line and intruding somewhere uninvited in a way that wouldn’t be the case had he remarked upon my smile. Similarly, would I have been so offended if I had teeny Trinny tits?

What do you think?

* Note that I quickly returned to my chirpy mood and have just consumed lemon risotto and two G+Ts with glee.