There she was again, all blond hair and breasts perfectly cupped and peering out of a shiny, black Catwoman top on the cover of GQ. I wasn't jealous so much as mesmerized. I once went to school with this girl, now very much a woman.It was a hand and a fistful of years ago; we were both 18. I remember how self-assured and wise she was, even back then. She had a big sister quality as though she had everything figured out while the rest of us were still floundering through the last trials of adolescence. She knew exactly what she wanted in life and she went after it.
What I don't remember exactly are those breasts.
That GQ cover caused quite a stir-- not about her, but about them-- the breasts. Silicon, natural, or Photoshopped? I can't say either way. None of us had fully bloomed by then, least of all me. But I do know that I'm fuller now than I was then [ but not by much.] Really though, why does it matter if they were real or not? And the answer is, it doesn't, but the conversations continue nonetheless.
Just a few days ago, I was watching a Netflix with a friend and he spotted a girl with huge knockers. Remote point. Rewind. Ext. Zoom In. Freeze Frame.
"Think those are real?" he asks.
I take one look.
"No way," I answer. "No one has perfectly shaped disco-ball sized globes anchored to their chest like that. Plus, look at her teeny-tiny waist and lollipop head..."
Real or Fake? is a question that comes up often in L.A. Here women's breasts are always in bloom. Most of the time though, you can easily pick out the fakes. If a women is a size 0 with minimal body fat, it's nearly impossible to have 38DD boobs. Not even here in mythical L.A. does that exist naturally-- unless you're a freak of Barbie proportions. (Heidi Montag is the closest you're gonna get to Barbie and I don't think Heidi even has any of her original parts. If she were on Amazon, she'd be listed as refurbished.) Also, if a woman refers to her breasts as "the girls" or has some other pet name for them, I'm willing to bet they're fake, too.
Breasts change as we gain weight, lose weight, have babies, grow older... They are almost never identical, even to each other. As for me, I'm happy where I'm at. There are definite benefits to being lesser-chested. I'll never have to wear one of those industrial strength sports bras and as I grow older, there won't be enough material up there to sag.
And as for my former schoolmate? I offer my sincere congratulations on all fronts, not because of GQ, but because of all the other recognition she's finally getting in a career I know she's quietly been building for years.
Copyright ©2010 by KLiedle
Photo credit: " Bloom*" -- imapix/flickr
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