Look beyond the boobs

Marguerite Ocampo

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Charles Cooley was certainly right in his theory of 'the looking glass self.' The judgment of others (or at least, what I believe their judgment to be) has a great effect on me – so great that I try my best to reshape myself to fit into society’s ideals.

SELF-IMAGE. Perceptions shape what individuals sometimes become.

It’s a blessing. It’s a curse. Be thankful for what you have. Don’t you wish you had gotten a little less? You’re beautiful. You’re ugly. It’s ideal. It’s out of date.

What should I really believe?

We live in a day and age when physical appearances mean a lot – they’re like a bank of good fortune. However, I believe that we live in confusion. They say that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder but at the same time, there are standards we all seem to follow when it comes to defining something or someone as aesthetically amusing.

We live in a society where two mounds of flesh on a girl’s chest can excite, disgust, appall, or pleasure people. There’s malice that comes with being well-endowed up there and sometimes, it just really gets to me.

I’m a stick with boobs – it’s not even funny.

Skinny Minnie

Dressing up in the morning’s always a challenge. Nothing seems to fit right and I either end up looking like a frumpy box or a – for lack of any better term – slut.

Clothing manufacturers seem to be unaware that girls with my body shape exist. The trends tend to cater to stick-thin stunners while plus-sizes are only for all-around plump women. I admit, there aren’t very many people who have the same problem that I do, but that doesn’t mean we should be ignored by the fashion industry. We’d like to look good too, you know.

Then again, maybe we aren’t allowed to, or we’re not supposed to because what we have don’t seem to fit the ideal. According to the media and the fashion industry, thin is in – and let’s face it, with these two lumps hanging off me, I’m no skinny Minnie.

It wasn’t always like this, though. I mean, it wasn’t always a problem to be curvy up top. There was a certain era – the 50s, 60s, I forget – when being sexy meant more than bones poking out of your skin. There was an era when pin-up girls reigned and when clothes were created to match their silhouettes. 

Dita Von Teese and Marilyn Monroe weren’t stick-thin and yet they were deemed beautiful. Alas, those days are gone. Today, beauty is more easily found in figures such as those of Miley Cyrus or the Olsen twins. That just goes to show, however, how dynamic culture is and how the views of a group and of even the world can change after some time.

On the occasion that I do find something good to wear, my problems don’t end there. I attract unwanted attention and at times, people tend to forget where my eyes are (if you know what I mean). They stare and I become more awkward. I don’t understand what’s so erotic or attractive about two balls of fat, muscle, and skin.

Television, movies, and media in general tend to glamorize them. A woman runs on the beach with her breasts perkily bouncing up and down as she smiles, while a man drools as he falls in love with her and the girls in the area envy her figure – doesn’t that sound like such a normal scene for a romcom or a movie full of cheap laughs?

Women with big breasts are all the same – ditzy bimbos without a care in the world for self-respect or chastity. That’s not how it goes in real life. That stereotype is more often than not false.

The downside

First of all, I probably wouldn’t be smiling while running and I probably wouldn’t run while skimpily clad on a beach. Running in almost any form of exercise is a huge hassle for well-endowed females.

The bouncing of breasts isn’t at all glamorous or fun on our part. It hurts and it slows us down. When we play sports, there’s a bigger target for balls to hit and hurt. Believe me, I would know.

I play football and the amount of times my chest has been hit quite hard worries me about developing cancer or something. These babies need a lot of support and protection when doing strenuous activities.

Secondly, men don’t fall in love with you because of your bust size. Rather, they tend to lust over you. This isn’t a good thing because it leads to a lot of inappropriate jokes and sometimes, to harassment. I’ve felt greatly objectified because of my bust size. Forget about my face, my brain, and my soul. I have boobs and that’s all you need, right? Right.

I remember this one time, a newly-met acquaintance told me, “Oh, I didn’t think you were still a virgin.” I asked why and guess what he said! “Because you put your boobs out on display like that,” he said looking down at what he was talking about.

I wanted to slap him, especially considering that I was wearing a normal tank top and a cardigan that day.

Cultural capital

Day in and day out, it’s a struggle for me to figure out what to do with my body. Day in and day out, this problem tends to faze me more and more. I see myself through other people’s eyes but I tend to dwell on the negative side. Because of that, I tend to want to hide my body more.

I keep trying to find ways to lose this burden. Forget the “if you’ve got it, flaunt it” attitude. Charles Cooley was certainly right in his theory of “the looking glass self.” The judgment of others (or at least, what I believe their judgment to be) has a great effect on me – so great that I try my best to reshape myself to fit into society’s ideals. Sadly, I know many girls struggle with this problem.

I must admit, however, that these babies are a form of cultural capital. They give women the power to seduce. Now, I’m not saying I use them to that extent, but I remember a well-endowed friend telling me a story about her and her boyfriend once.

“Whenever he doesn’t want to do something, I just pop one button down and he’s putty in my hands,” were her exact words – with the omission of her boyfriend’s name, of course. To a certain extent, I guess this endowment could be used as something to benefit from. Although, admittedly, I’d really rather not use them in such a way. Maybe it’s just the way I was brought up and socialized, but I really find that disrespectful to my own body. 

Since I was a kid, I was told to cover them up and keep them as private parts. I was warned against showing off too much cleavage – or any cleavage, for that matter.

Low necklines weren’t tolerated by my father and tight tops were just a huge no-no. But why? What makes them so special, as I asked earlier?

It’s preposterous how much importance is given to these two chunks of extra fat. It’s crazy that they give me so much trouble with the passing of each day. I guess, however, there’s no way around them.

I can’t convince every single person in the world to believe they’re just another body part – no different from a hand, an elbow, a neck, or a jaw. I guess they’ve been a sex symbol for too long for that link to be broken so quickly. – Rappler.com

 

Marguerite Ocampo is a college student at the Ateneo de Manila. She wrote this blog for her Socio-Anthropology 21 class.

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