There was a moment during lockdown when I realized I hadn’t worn a proper bra in weeks.
At first, I felt a pang of guilt—like I was somehow neglecting an unspoken duty. And then I had an epiphany: who the hell was I wearing those underwired medieval torture devices for in the first place?
COVID may have been an era of existential dread, but it also gifted me the revelation that I would never, under any circumstances, go back to those rigid cages of discomfort. Instead, I’ve fully embraced the soft, breathable, I’m-dressing-for-me era of my life—complete with crop tops, triangle bralettes, and (sometimes) nothing at all.
There was a moment during lockdown when I realized I hadn’t worn a proper bra in weeks. At first, I felt a pang of guilt—like I was somehow neglecting an unspoken duty. And then I had an epiphany: who the hell was I wearing those underwired medieval torture devices for in the first place?
COVID may have been an era of existential dread, but it also gifted me the revelation that I would never, under any circumstances, go back to those rigid cages of discomfort. Instead, I’ve fully embraced the soft, breathable, I’m-dressing-for-me era of my life—complete with crop tops, triangle bralettes, and (sometimes) nothing at all.
Why Were We Doing This to Ourselves?
Bras, particularly the underwired variety, have always been marketed as a necessity—a structural support system for women’s bodies, both physically and socially. They were designed to hold us up, shape us, and (let’s be real) make us look more palatable to the male gaze.
And let’s talk about the male gaze for a second. Why were we expected to prioritize how our chests appeared over how we felt? Why did we accept shoulder dents, rib bruising, and the occasional wire-induced puncture wound as part of everyday life? It’s absurd when you think about it.
Rejecting uncomfortable bras isn’t just about personal comfort—it’s about rejecting the patriarchal nonsense that dictates how we present ourselves.
Historically, bras have played a role in defining femininity, control, and desirability. From corset-style structures to the push-up revolution of the early 2000s, we’ve been conditioned to think that a bra is what makes us presentable. But presentable to whom? And why should I care?
Comfort First, Always
Ditching underwires didn’t just bring physical relief—it was an act of self-reclamation. I wanted to wear things that made me feel good, not garments designed to keep everything “in place” for someone else’s approval.
Now, my drawer is filled with soft bralettes, non-restrictive crop tops, and gasp the occasional complete rejection of a bra altogether. And guess what? I still feel beautiful. I still feel put together. And I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable.
I’m not saying everyone should abandon their bras entirely (if you love them, keep them!), but I am saying we should question why we feel obligated to wear something that doesn’t serve us. Because spoiler: gravity exists whether or not you’re wearing a bra, and society is just going to have to deal with it.
The Feminist Power Move of Ditching the Bra
Rejecting uncomfortable bras isn’t just about personal comfort—it’s about rejecting the patriarchal nonsense that dictates how we present ourselves.
Women and non-binary people have long been conditioned to conform to beauty standards that actively harm us (high heels, body-con dresses, waist trainers—shall I go on?). Refusing to wear something that restricts my body in the name of a patriarchal ideal? That’s a feminist act.
For some of us, ditching the bra is a quiet revolution. For others, it’s a bold middle finger to an industry that has profited off our discomfort for decades. Either way, it’s a choice—and one that we all deserve to make without shame or societal policing.
Free the Tits
Will I ever go back? Absolutely not. My underwires have long since been banished to the depths of a donation bin, and I am never looking back.
Comfort, self-love, and rejecting outdated expectations are the only things supporting me now. And honestly? That’s all I need.
So if you see me out in my soft, unstructured bralette, just know: I am thriving.
