That time Susan Saradon retweeted my cleavage.

The first thing I wanted to blog about was something I hold dearly to my chest….because it is my chest. I love boobs. (No prizes for guessing that Gloria is my favourite character in Modern Family.) EVERYBODY loves boobs, right? Then WHY is there still a stigma attached to those that dare to show an inch of flesh below the neck?   

Let me elaborate. I’ve always had pretty big jugs - I bought my first ‘big girls’ bra when I was 11 and it was pink leopard print. I was the generation that grew up with playboy bunny cushions, so of course it was pink leopard print. It was underwired and padded beyond belief but I loved it and I loved how wearing it made me feel - womanly and supported. 

A couple of years down the line and Sienna Miller made boho a thing, and so when it came to non-uniform day at highschool my newly purchased floaty green top with faded jeans (oh god) was a no brainer. I was probably about a C cup at this point. 

Halfway through the day I was accosted by the vice principal who took one look at my top and the 15 year old breasts in it, and demanded I go to her office. There, I was shouted at and told I was a ‘distraction to the male staff’, that I had some nerve for daring to wear this top and I was lucky I wasn’t being sent home straightaway. The compromise was for me to ‘button up my cardigan’ but if she saw it unbuttoned at any point, I would be sent home and given detention. This was the reaction I received for having breasts. The top I wore wasn’t particularly out there and bar wearing a turtle neck (hello one big boob) there was no escaping that I HAD BREASTS, damnit. Oddly enough nothing was said to my friend who wore a similar top who was an AA cup. Strange, that. 

This is not a message we should instill in any woman, 15 or otherwise. They should never feel their bodies are something to be ashamed of and hidden, and that their growing body parts are a ‘distraction’ to the male eye - or in my case, adult members of staff who should have known better.  

I’d like to write that it got easier as I grew older - that everyone became more liberal minded and realised that boobs are just a body part, like an arm, leg or toe but ridiculously that’s not the case at all.

When I was 19 I had my first ‘serious’ boyfriend and no money (the no money part hasn't changed 8 years later. Damn you ASOS.) so I began to collect glasses at the local night club to earn some money on the side. I was never trained to make drinks, and my job literally consisted of collecting empty glasses and loading and unloading a dishwasher whilst being surrounded by Stratford Upon Avon’s drunkest. Anyway, it was a job and I needed the money. 

The uniform for the job was pretty standard - anything black. Easy enough. Mostly I wore a black skater skirt and a black vest top that I didn’t mind getting alcohol on. 

One night I was asked by my manager to go and sell some drinks and whilst I won’t be adding ‘shot girl’ to my CV anytime soon, selling watered down peach schnapps is surprisingly easy when your clientele are seeing double. Feeling confident, I approached a group of men in their 50’s and asked if they’d like to buy a shot. “I want to know if those boobs are real,” one laughed, eyeing up my chest. I can’t really remember what I responded, probably nothing, for then the man reached out and grabbed one of my boobs, laughing along with his mates. I’d say at their age they should have known better, but as a human being they should have known better. I made my excuses and went off to the staff room where I promptly burst into tears. It had only been seconds, fleeting, but in that moment I’d never felt so vulnerable. Thinking about it now makes me angry, that a stranger felt they had the right to touch my body in any way for their own amusement, a joke shared between good time ‘lads’ on a night out. 

I went home and later, lying next to my then-boyfriend I told him what had happened. I was hoping for a supportive shoulder, maybe a touch of sympathy but what I got instead wasn't what I'd hoped.“Well that’s what you get when you dress like a slut,” he stated matter of factly. Sadly, it would take a further year for us to break up when I realised he was a cheating asshat as well as a heartless dick. 

That reaction isn’t unusual. We see it every day in the street, every day in the papers. Don’t want people catcalling at you? Cover up. Don’t want guys thinking you’re ‘easy’? Stop leading them on by wearing that skirt. Don’t want to be a distraction to the male members of staff at a highschool? STOP DEVELOPING. How dare you be a female and be happy to show off whatever body part you want because it makes you feel confident and sexy. Your breasts are just there to be ogled by men, not for you to feel proud of. 

This brings me to the beautiful Susan Sarandon - a woman who has aged gracefully, much to the distaste of the media and Piers Morgan, apparently. When Susan dared to wear a cleavage enhancing white suit to an awards ceremony recently, she was slaughtered by the press. How dare she get her boobs out at HER age? What was she thinking? This in turn, caused a backlash on twitter where like minded individuals said a massive fuck you to ageism, to men dictating when a woman was past her ‘best’ and when they should cover up for good and live out their lives hidden from society. Women all over social media began to tweet Susan their support, and their cleavage. I was one of these. Weirdly, my followers shot up that day and I got the odd comment, but I didn’t pay heed to them - they weren’t important, this was bigger, this was a statement made by women fed up of being told what they should do with their bodies. 

If I could tell my 15 year old self anything, it would be to wear what you want. Let others wear what they want. Be strong and be kind, and for godsake never be scared or bullied into not getting your baps out if it makes you feel good. They are beautiful and so are you.   

HayleyHeartsxo