You may have noticed from both my writing here and my Instagram that I favour a top that shows my boobs. Whether it’s the side, the front, the top…I’m fresh out of angles, but whatever shows off my assets without a nip slip is fine by me. The reason behind this is that I’m proud of my boobs. I like them a lot, and I think that this should be celebrated. Because a woman who loves her tits is a happy woman, so I embrace it. This time even a year ago I was wearing much less revealing outfits, but I’ve gotten to a stage where I like my bod so I’m happy to dress to embrace it, for me and me alone.
Now, I’m sadly not a stranger to creepy comments from men of a night irrespective of what I’m wearing. However the other week I was walking around with a friend wearing this Topshop leotard. It’s low cut and I don’t wear a bra for that reason, also because it’s so tight that a bra would ruin the smooth look. And frankly I hate bras. Obviously, my nipples were out and proud, doing what nipples do when exposed to the elements with only a thin cut of fabric protects them. They were erect. A man driving passed us felt it necessary to slow down his car and shout out of his window something creepy about how he could see my nipples.
Firstly and most importantly: Fuck. You.
Secondly, has this man who was I would guess in his late 20s never seen nipples before? Unless his were lost in a terrible accident as a baby, I hardly think it likely that he isn’t familiar with what the common nipple looks like. Even if his had been lost in a terrible accident, he must have encountered nipples either during his breastfeeding years (which apparently had a profound and continuing impact on him), swimming lessons or even if he has managed to persuade someone to engage in a sexual act with him. Although I’m sure nipples are like snowflakes and no two are the same, really, there isn’t much variation to be had. So the sight out the outline of my nipples shouldn’t come as a surprise. I only have two, I should hasten to add, so there isn’t some third nipple situation that would merit the shock. I like to think that mine are pretty uninteresting, what with there only being two of them and they don’t shoot lasers or anything cool like that.
Third and finally, my nipples are my nipples. Breasts aren’t primarily a sexual object designed for the enjoyment of others in an everyday context, but they’ve been made to become that for whatever reason. It’s fine that they are seen sexually when I want them to be, but when I’m walking down the street with my friend, in broad daylight, my boobs are not there for your sexual enjoyment. Just because I wear a tight or low-cut top doesn’t mean I’m inviting you to view me in that way or to comment. I am aware that my nipples are there, they’ve been there for 24 years now so I reckon I can locate them on my own.
If and when I want my nipples to be perceived in a sexual way is entirely up to me. Funnily enough, Clapham high street is not one of these times. Since they belong firmly to me, his shouting felt like an attempt to take ownership of my boobs and make them something that they aren’t for him. They are not and never will be there for his enjoyment, or anyone else’s unless I say otherwise. Shouting at me in the street is aggressive, invasive and frankly completely gross. It is also an attempt to embarass me and make me feel ashamed of my nipples, which I bloody well don’t, clearly, since I rarely wear a bra.
At the end of the day, it shouldn’t be so shocking for a grown woman who is proud of her boobs to just want to get them out every once in a while. It is endlessly frustrating that I can’t wear what I want without being forced to endure the ignorance of others. If you feel so inclined as to shout through a car window about my body, resist the urge, because regardless of what you think my response will be, it will in reality only involve a bunch of four letter words and a few angry fingers (and not where you want them).