i’m not a “boob man” and this pic definitely doesn't do it for me. to break it down... i’m not of the penile persuasion... and, hey, i’m not obsessed with bazongas. but one of the bosses at work thinks i am.
it’s the lady boss who up until now, i’ve had an awkward rapport with… like she doesn’t quite know where to place me. thankfully, she’s not threatened by me because i’m not a pretty blonde thing stealing the guys’ attention… some of the other girls in the office have felt like she cold-shoulders them for this reason even though they're not the flirty types at all.
our rapport, although professional, has been a bit maternal, a bit matey and a little bit flirty = awkward.
anyways, i was commenting on the boobs of a particular celebrity the other week and the boss lady walked past and said how her partner was “a real boob man too.” oh? it’s not like i was going on about how sweeeet and gropable they were or anything like that… i was just commenting on the shape of them. and before i had a chance to correct her, i could tell by the look on her face that in her head, she’d just figured out how to relate to me.
she now saw me as a straight man (of sorts) who liked boobs. because, hey, don’t we all fellas? and since then, our rapport has been totally chill because i play the boy role and she plays the girl role, there's an occasional mammary reference, and the world’s a happy place. easy. but honestly… i’m really not a boob man. errrr. boi. you get it.
i mean i like boobs… i like boobs as part of the package but i certainly don’t lust after them in isolation.
i find my own boobs quite annoying. as a sporty girl, boobs just get in the way… particularly in boxing. now my coach is a stickler for safety and won’t let us spar or compete unless we’ve got all the right protective gear. helmet, mouth guard, groin protector and a breastplate. i find this really annoying because in boxing you don’t aim for your opponent’s boobs… you aim for their head and guts… so it’s rare that you cop a punch in the boob. but it’s mainly annoying because breastplates are really uncomfortable and restrictive. take a look at this ridiculous thing my coach made me wear when i started out sparring.
it’s like triple the size of my actual chest and makes me look like a boxing dolly parton. and because it’s made of hard plastic it restricts your ability to protect your face because you can’t bring your arms up properly or your elbows close enough together. ridiculous. i now refuse to wear the bloody thing but i have much smaller slip-in protector plates for actual fights.
sometimes i reckon it'd be easier not to have boobs at all. and i actually got to see someone's boobs being removed a few weeks ago. in the words of the patient... "like a boob job - but the other way around." seriously. my buddy ali (from hungry beast) and i are making a doco series on some female-to-male trans guys in sydney, and one of our guys let us film his double mastectomy. for two and a half hours, decked out in sexy hospital scrubs, we witnessed his chest surgery in all its gory detail... i can tell you that the inside of a boob looks like runny scrambled eggs.
although totally comfy with my identity as a girl, i can relate to the idea of wanting to have a flat, more manly chest. i dress like a boy, i like my body when it's toned and i guess pretty masculine looking... so having a flat chest for me would be part of the whole aesthetic. a reflection of the tomboy within.
but i wouldn't get my boobs chopped off. my sports bras keep them in check and these days i'm quite partial to the idea of having kids. as in, i would consider popping one out, in addition to, or instead of, my (hypothetical) partner giving birth... if it came down to it.
so i'd keep the boobs for the sake of breast feeding - even though the idea of it seems a little foreign to me. (not that you HAVE to breast feed. i wasn't breast fed. mum said i was a biter so whacked me on the bottle straight away. go figure. and i turned out alright).
and geeeez, i'm the first to admit that i'd look pretty funny pregnant... visualise a pregnant justin bieber. here's one we baked earlier:
i'd be a baseball cap wearing, muscley little boyish nugget with swollen boobs and a protruding belly. kinda odd. but who gives a fuck?! not me.
so while i'm not a boob man, i appreciate the uniqueness of bodies in all their booby-licious or flat chested glory.
and on that note, LET'S DANCE.
(sub)urban tomboy x