a material girl stuck in a not-so-material work world



I need to get measured for my true bra size. Seriously.

In college, I found out that 4 of my girlfriends and I (all of whom are different sizes) all wore a B-cup. I remember thinking "I am right, they are wrong." I've doubted myself ever since.

Fact: 80% of women wear the wrong bra size. It was on Oprah a couple weeks ago. It was in the Houston Chronicle last week. I need to get fitted.

From the article:
Your bra moves when you move around. (me!)
Your breasts spill over the cup sides or tops. (opposite… I
don’t always fill them up)
Your straps fall down, even after adjusting. (me!)
Your bra rides up in the back. (sometimes)

Then, I was watching Full Frontal Fashion on WE, and they were doing the "Top 10 Ways to Look Slimmer." Number 2? Lingerie that fits. Number 1? Having your clothes altered. [Tangent: Why the hell is that annoying guy that's always on VH1's I Love the 80s shows on there?! He's such an idiot and reminds me of a bad pirate or something. He wears neckerchiefs for God's sakes! What can he know about fashion!?]

I was going to go this weekend, but started worrying about it: How do they measure you? Is it embarrassing? I have no problem getting a brazilian bikini wax, but for some reason this is different. I am going to get fitted.

Next up: getting clothes that don't fit properly altered. Sweater sleeves shortened, pants lengthened, and the most important one of all: Getting my jeans altered. Yes, I said it. We'll see how that goes.


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