1. How it feels to put excess hope in those “I went from a size AA to a size C at 25” stories.
Every woman with small boobs has heard that elusive story — the one where some lucky 25-year-old, pitiful in all her late-bloomingness, finally grew the boobs she had always wanted in her mid-20s. We’ve all HEARD the story, but have never actually witnessed it. It’s always a friend of a friend’s cousin or someone else no less than four degrees of separation from us, her existence shrouded in the uncertainty of urban legends. But she keeps our spirits high.
2. Never going bra shopping.
I have zero clue how to shop for bras; in fact, I don’t think I’ve purchased a single bra in my life. My collection of bras fall into two categories:
- The bras I’ve had all my life; the ones I can’t remember not having. They usually look like a sports bra Susanne Summers might’ve worn.
- The bras my friends outgrew.
3. Never having to complain of sore boobs.
With boobs so small, there’s scarcely anything about them that needs tending to. Sometimes when your friends are complaining about their “sore” boobs, us small-boob folk will nod along and say something in the affirmative like “ugh, yeah me too…” But know this: we’re lying.
4. What it feels like to pull skin into a makeshift cleavage.
As a faithful member of the dwarfed boobs cohort, I am inevitably familiar with the myriad ways in which we try to trick men into thinking we are a cup-size bigger than we actually are. Like a blind woman finding her way by reading Braille, i too could find my way in a sea of darkness if it was adorned with those cup-shaped cushions that go into padded bras. But, perhaps the most practiced ruse of all is the classic skin grab; without enough tittage to secure cleavage, we resort to our skin, grabbing all the excess skin in our boob region that we can get our hands on, and use that as cleavage fodder.
5. How it feels to constantly hear “but small boobs are in!”
When it comes to boobs, the grass is usually always greener; everyone’s got boob FOMO and they won’t let up. (Though we all know who the real winners are: the girls blessed with perky B-cups.) Big-boobed women are constantly fawning over our small boobs and are always of the belief that their boobs make classy outfits look tacky and that small boobs are “chic” and “in.”
6. The sobering realization that you’ve gone too far with not wearing a bra.
Sometimes, us small-boobed broads feel duped, as if we’ve been excluded from a very feminine process: that of growing boobs. Sometimes — whether in an effort to make ourselves feel better or out of pure indolence — we forgo bras altogether. Big-boobed women are so envious of this and because it’s probably the only thing about our small boobs that they envy, we like to flaunt this one and only perk. But fellow small-boobers, beware: the sans-bra look has the power to come back and bite you in the ass; take your no-bra celebration too far and you won’t just be bra-less, but friendless too.
7. How it feels to borrow your best friend’s younger sister’s bra.
It’s always a fine moment when your best friend’s bra size surpasses your and now every time you need to borrow a bra she goes marching into her little sister’s room. A fine moment for all. Unfortunately, I’m not being facetious — cherish this moment, as it’s a hell of a lot more preferable than when the younger sister finally surpasses you in bra size too.
8. Small boob family pride.
I come from a female-dominated family in which the small boob gene runs deep. Ever since I could say “mama” I was aware of my fate. My mother, leading the pack, never once shied away from poking fun at her small boobs and my inevitable ones. There was never even a freckle of hope that I would some day have natural, effortless cleavage, and so we did what most small-boobed girls in large numbers too: we band together.
9. How it feels to freak out over big tits.
Having never had these salacious, excess appendages, I’m as impressed by them as the next straight guy. Would one squeeze hurt? Just one? I want to know what they feel like, because for all I know they really could have the texture of a bag of sand.
10. What dudes sometimes say about big boobs in private.
Because I’m a 32 AA, guys seem to think it’s acceptable — even welcome — to talk poorly of large breasts. One time I was applauded for my breasts because, as he put it, “your boobs won’t become a liability when you’re older.” And yet, hearing other talk about women in this manner didn’t make me feel any better! Strange…
11. That eating more doesn’t always mean bigger boobs.
There are some blessed women out there whose breasts hoard all of the weight they gain. Us bevy of small-boobed gals are not as blessed. I can’t stand when people say “just gain weight!” as a solution to my dwarfed boobs. Don’t you think if this worked I’d be practicing it already? Funneling Oreos into my mouth?
12. How it feels to put too much hope in “boob enlargement exercises.”
There’s this chant I used to say as a 12-year-old that, in hindsight, epitomizes a truly twisted mindset. While doing this weird pectoral clench thing — which I know realize is just a rather useless exercise for the serratus anterior — I would sing “I must, I must, I must increase my bust, the bigger the better the tighter the sweater the boys depend on us.” Prolific poetry, I know…But my focus isn’t so much the anti-feminist chant as it is the “boob exercise” that went along with it. Futile boob exercises abound and, after trying them all out, I can safely say they’re all folklore.
13. The I-want-a-boob-job phase.
And this is especially true if you grew up in the 90s like me — note: this is not the same as growing up with 90s GIF-related articles. The 90s was anything BUT boobs, and most of them were fake too. Elizabeth Hurley, Lil’ Kim, Pam Anderson, Jenny McCarthy, Jennifer Love-Hewitt, with Aaliyah and barely anyone else leading the small-boob camp. My point is, the influence was strong. And it took a toll. i’m just glad my mom refused to let me get one “until I could pay for it myself,” because, though I still can’t afford it, I now know I don’t want it.
14. Getting over that phase.
It’s not instantaneous; you don’t go to sleep one night dreaming of fembots and wake up idolizing Kiera Knightley. It’s gradual, but it happens. As it tends to happen, you realize: “Wait a second — world hunger. Gay rights, too. Also: racism still exists. And: FEMINISM!” And what used to matter begins to matters less… 
