My Living Bra Died: A bounce in my steps, no more

The 1960s and THE living bra! - an uplifting and heartily received creative design for ladies. The cotton bras were only two-dollars yet still priced beyond my means. But, curious and with desperate intent to understand what the hype was - and, did they "work" - had to try on some of these "amazing" inventions ... magic for fashion conscious girls. Oh yes, truly meant for me.  

For years, I secretly searched for the most perfect of bras - a venture I kept to myself due to the sensitive nature {of my boobies}. Spoiler alert - I was one of those well-endowed women, who were rarely allowed in the naughtily suggestive commercials of that decade. 

Excitedly armed with my Playtex Living Bra, I headed toward the fitting room at our Sears and Roebuck to try it on. The entrance was manned by judgmental women turning their noses down at my outfit of cut off blue jeans, t-shirt, scuffy PF Flyers with dirt-worn bobby socks (TomBoy dress code). Their inspective attitude made it difficult for an already self-conscious me to enter the realm of almost nakedness without the heart-thumping worry that the worker would yank open the flimsy curtain of my dressing cubicle with obvious distrust, trying to bust me for stealing their precious living bras. After all, they were two-dollars apiece! Udderly insulting.

The dressing room was dirty and cluttered with unwanted clothing tossed on the floor or carelessly hung on a hook, as if the previous occupant was hurrying with fear that they would also be intruded upon. 

The living bra died and was a flat disappointment; it seemed to make my already hidden chest more pointy and obvious. I tossed it in the pile of disappointments and slithered out of the dressing room, sensing the attendant's eyes looking at my t-shirted self, hopeful of another dressing room bust.

Fast forward into the 2000s - when I was eventually successful in my search. The found-bra is a wonder to be-hold. It proved to be a comfortable, yet, confusing contraption [with instructions] finding me fairly dancing just to combine the ends into a perfect and comfortable fit. 

I was further hysterical with glee when I made a discovery before a walk that my pants had no pockets in which to store the many and important items a woman carries. My new bra "of much fabric"! I stuffed it with: my car keys, cell phone, tissue, mints and gum, an extra pair of socks, and three spoons [long story] and a small water bottle in the middle. Being the dancer I am, I figuratively and hands-free danced on the trail, having the walk of my year with the embracement of my new yet non-living bra.

If your living bra dies and you want to know where my secret company is, I'm sorry but have forgotten. After years of ponderous thought, I went for a breast reduction and have an even more horrid time finding a comfortable fit. But am lifted beyond belief and only my steps have bounce in them. 

A friend wrote “I want to hear the rest of the story behind the 3 spoons and what kind of bra this is that has made you dance with glee! I loved this entry and the smile that you put on my face as I envisioned you tucking all those things into your ‘lady purse’ and dancing down the river walk!

A family member wrote “Girl, share the name of that bra!! Yes, we girls that are well endowed have a difficult time finding just the right fit - so bring on the store name, website or however you found it.  Share the good news with the rest of us!”


  1. Its weird how fashion attacks women's bodies.

    1. Alli, I agree. Even the labeling of clothing sizes in the past were defeating (instead of large, Sears called the clothing size, Husky). Today the style includes pajama pants and "yoga" pants - neither of which I would feel comfortable wearing outdoors but extremely comfortable within the confines of my home.

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