Yesterday I watched a segment on The Doctors about breast implants. There was a short video of a sista named Meladi, 23. She's about my height, weighed 130 lbs, small up top and curvy in the hip and butt area. We were physical matches. She points to her breasts and says, "I'm a B-cup. B for bad." Then a plastic surgeon says she could use a boob job to make her look "more proportionate." She looked fine to me.
The sista can do to her body what she chooses. But I'm proud of my little boobies. It took me a while to reach this point. For some reason, the big breasts gene that runs on both my mom and dad sides of the family skipped me. Aside from my five-year old cousin and I, the women in my family are packing a C-cup and up. I fall in the A to B-cup category. When I was 14 my Aunt M would say, "Don't worry, they'll grow." She said the same thing to me when I turned 15, 16, 17. By the time I reached 18 my aunt gave up hope and told me, "Girl, you don't want to deal with the big boobs anyway. It's not all that. They're a hassle."
"Puh-lease, " I thought. "If big boobs weren't all that, women wouldn't be paying thousands of dollars for plastic surgeons to cut into their chests and Pamela Anderson would be out of work." I know my aunt was trying to sugar coat the situation but it didn't work. I prayed often that I would wake up one day and find my perky plums had bloomed into captivating cantaloupes. But no luck.
I had a change of my heart in my early 20's. During one of my "Why did everybody get big breasts but me?" rants, my mom gently shut me down. She said, "You should be thankful and love your body. There are people who have serious illnesses and would probably love to switch places with you." Ouch. Never thought about that. And of course she told me to complain when the baby girls start sagging.
After that conversation, I began really looking at my chest in the mirror and a love affair with my small breasts blossomed . Or as I like to call them my Honor Roll Rack b/c they're straight A's! Get it? Don't act like that joke wasn't funny. But seriously, I realized that life is too short to be worrying about boobs. I'm young and I don't want to start appreciating my body when I'm old. I want to love it now. So I see the good in having tiny tatas: no back problems, easier to find shirts that fit me, being mistaken for a teenager, and my favorite--going braless. Yes I keep an extra roll of Scotch tape in the summer when I'm rocking the tank top and it's too hot for a bra. When I do need a little "umph" to fill out a top, let's just say I work wonders. And having small boobs hasn't stopped me from getting hit on by men or feeling sexy. Or should I say "sexA?"
To all my sistas in the itty bitty club, show love to the baby girls. Stay perky, "B" proud and keep it sexA.
1.Yasmin Warsame posing in Vogue Italia, July 2008
2. sexA and fly sista Jada Pinkett-Smith