The Bra Whisperer

I’m pretty modest. As in I don’t usually walk around naked or talk dirty, which was a real problem for me in the early ’90s when I shared a house with a “budding” actress who’d stand freshly showered in my bedroom door and flash me while feeling herself up. Turns out I’m not too progressive on the “hey, roomie! let’s sit on the couch and talk naked!” front.


I’m so NOT let’s sit around and talk naked that I do the “towel tent change” in gym locker rooms. It’s weird, I don’t know. I shave and everything, it’s just that I don’t know where to look when I talk to people who are naked. I too intensely focus on the naked person’s eyes, which is strange and serial killery. And if I’m the naked one, I don’t know what to do with my hands.


So I was a little wary when I received an invitation for a bra fitting recently, even though there’d be cupcakes and champagne to ease the naked pain. And while I decided to attend the event, a reception of sorts with the illustrious “Bra Whisperer” in attendance, I thought I’d just chat with friends, maybe buy a bra, and completely avoid the fitting rooms.


It did not turn out that way.


First of all, the moment I walked into the store, a beautiful, young, non-droopy saleswoman asked me to fill out a “Needs Assessment.” And while I completed the form best I could, there is not enough paper in the world for my needs, people. Also, this assessment turned the harsh light of reality on the state of my boobs. Upsetting adjectives like “sagging,” and “back fat,” disconcerted me in their apt descriptions of what’s been happening up there.


I turned in my assessment and after a glass of champagne, I thought maybe I could let one of the whisperers-in-training take a look. With my shirt on. You know, just sort of check out curvature and angle of droppage and recommend something practical for purchase. This was my plan even after my name was called and I was asked to take my top off and don a robe THAT OPENED IN THE FRONT. I sat for a few minutes in the dressing room after putting on the robe and my cross-legged, cross-armed stance must have tipped off my fitter because she went to get me another vat of champage. STAT.


So I don’t know. Maybe, most probably, definitely the champagne emboldened me, and I went for the fitting in all my topless glory. I will admit a brief moment of second guessing when my fitter asked me to open the robe and after one second of boob evaluation, said “Uhhhh-huh,” quickly turned on her heels and exited the fitting room with purpose to find me something in the Industrial Strength department.


She returned a few minutes later with a bevy of bras. I even allowed her to cup stuff while I touched my toes and she positioned my boob fat into the bra. Then? My life passed before my eyes. My ill-fitting, back-fatty, underwire-cutting life. Why, this bra fit. There was no jigglage or rapid rate of descent. Things were looking up!


To my fitter’s chagrin, I decided to buy a no-nonsense, beige, everyday bra even after she brought me a hot little red number to wear for Valentine’s Day. I mean, really. Me? Wear red? In a bra? That would be very immodest and Scarlet Letter. What am I, a budding actress who likes to flash hapless roommates while they read Ayn Rand?




I’m still wearing the red bra.


Right now.


As I type.


Immodesty feels pretty kicky.


Wanna come over? You and I can sit on the couch for some girl talk. I’ll try not to look too intensely into your eyes if you’re naked.


P.S. The Bra Whisperer is real!

P.P.S. If you want to be “fitted,” check out locations here.


10 thoughts on “The Bra Whisperer

  1. I would totally go to something like that–even though I HATE my breasts, I’m so desperate for a proper fitting bra that I would endure ANY humiliation to get it. Well, almost any.
    And yeah, I stare above the neck when around naked people. Or gaze contemplatively off into the middle distance.

  2. This was SO entertaining and funny! I hadn’t heard of the Bra Whisperer. Hysterical! I’m interested in a bra that eliminates “rapid rate of descent”. You might have to share.

    I’d love to come over, but I think we’d both faint if one of us was naked. I don’t do mutual nakedness very well either. We can keep our clothes on. :-)

  3. Aw, this is so me. I never knew where to look when everyone changed in gymn. My sister and I were always changing in front of one another, and my daughters and I do too, so I’m not sure why I’m this modest elsewhere.
    But this is such a cute story! I want a Bra Whisperer!!

  4. Who gets these kinds of jobs? That’s all I could think when I was getting my mammogram. That and “how many breasts does she have to handle in a day?” Definitely not for me.

    Proper fitting is essential, especially -ahem- over time. I think I have more breast tissue under my arm than out front nowadays. I have but one decently fitting bra, and it was missing for a few days (in the hamper!), which caused a lot of discomfort.

  5. Pingback: Cupcakes and Cleavage : San Diego GNO

  6. I would dump mine out of their awful confines for a good quality fitting bra. The last time I went to have on, I was wandering the store when I felt a tap on my shoulder and a kind woman asking if she could help fit me. I turned around and came face to face with my cousin – who I hadn’t seen in years. Needless to say, I thanked her, but that I didn’t feel the need to tarnish our wonderful reunion by going to second base with her.

  7. I’ve been invited to one of these things and I reluctantly said yes for all the reasons you did. I’m also very apprehensive about doing it for all the reasons you gave. Yet, the idea that I can get a bra to fit properly and feel good after a few hours give me hope that I’ll actually show up for this event.
    Also, I used to belong to a big gym and could never get used to these crazy broads strolling around naked while yakking on their cell phones.

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