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IS THE BRA FINALLY GOING BUST?

Most of us wouldn’t dream of stepping outside without a bra – but for a new generation of women it’s already history. Sarah Vine tries to get abreast of the matter

Ithink it was my grandmother who took me to buy my first bra, somewhere around the age of 16. I don’t remember it being a big thing, more a case of ‘Right, you’re at that age, let’s go to Marks and get you kitted out.’ Since then, barely a day has gone by without me wearing one. I would no more leave the house braless than without brushing my teeth. Quite apart from the fact that I would feel naked, exposed, it would also be extremely uncomfortable. I don’t have neat, well-behaved, self-supporting bosoms, I have large, unruly appendages that really cannot be relied on to behave themselves during the course of the day. Or night, for that matter: I’m a big fan of sleep bras too.

A good bra is a staple of every woman’s wardrobe, or so we’re always being led to believe. A good bra makes clothes fit better, it makes a person look slimmer, younger and – crucially – enhances the silhouette.

In larger women – women like me, with a D-cup and above (did you know it was in the 1920s that an American company decided to classify women’s breasts alphabetically according to size and ‘pendulousness’?) – it helps contain the unruly mammaries, stops them from swinging around all over the place, tripping you up when you least expect it.

It helps lift the cleavage, supports the weight (which can be very uncomfortable), keeps them from turning into an unsightly second stomach. If necessary it can even minimise. Pads, wires, side-panels, cushioned straps, back-fat smoothing – there’s no end to the ingenious engineering solutions on offer. But really, regardless of size, the fundamental function of a bra is to enhance and support the breasts – and that is why the vast majority of us wear them, day in, day out. It’s just what we do. What we have always done.

But not any more. A revolution is afoot, or rather abreast, and it seems to be gaining momentum. And it’s being led by the young girls and women of today, so called Gen Z. Far from viewing the bra as an essential garment, a life-enhancing addition to any woman’s wardrobe, they view it as superfluous to requirements. And they’re just not wearing them much any more.

I see this so much in my 19-year-old daughter and her friends. They quite happily trot down the street braless, seemingly undaunted at the prospect of their nipples catching the attention of unsuspecting passers-by. Admittedly they’re young, so gravity is still on their side, and they haven’t yet weathered the storm of pregnancy and breastfeeding; even so, it’s striking just how little they seem to care what anyone thinks.

To old prudes like myself, it smacks of

IT’S AN ACT OF REBELLION AND THE ULTIMATE EXPRESSION OF EQUALITY

strangers to tell her what’s wrong with her body, she could have worn something a little less revealing. But for Pugh’s generation, that’s not the point. They don’t believe they should compromise for anyone. And that, as shocking a concept as it may seem for someone like me, is – when you stop to think about it – quite radical. This entire generation of young women believe the world should bend to their will, not the other way around. And that is astonishing. And also a first. It’s a genuine post-feminist stance, one that assumes certain freedoms as given, and takes the whole thing to the next level. Going braless is part of that, both an unashamed affirmation of femininity – and the ultimate expression of equality.

As today’s young women see it, breasts are not something that should be hidden away; they don’t care if their nipples are showing any more than they care whether their birth-control pills fall out of their bag at a party. They are simply not into apologising for their bodies in the same way we were. They don’t fear disapproval – not society’s, not fashion’s, not the media’s, not yours or mine. They are what they are, and if you don’t like it, that’s your problem.

You don’t need to look far to see evidence of this. Take 24-year-old footballer Chloe Kelly’s willingness to strip off her shirt in celebration of her winning goal in the European Championship at Wembley. Take the pop star Lizzo who is defying the rules of stardom with her unashamedly chunky frame and unfailing self-belief. Her Instagram feed is full of videos of her wearing items of clothing that, not to put too fine a point on it, are struggling to meet the brief. In particular she has large, pendulous breasts which very much do not stand up on their own – and she doesn’t give a stuff. She thinks she looks great, and that’s that. Her message is: take it or leave it, the choice is yours.

An older me might have thought this all very unedifying. But recently, talking to my

daughter and her friends, I’ve begun to understand it better. It’s about being comfortable in your own skin, about not letting your appearance define you.

Part of me is still discombobulated by this attitude, not least because it’s deeply unfamiliar. Like so many women, I was conditioned from a young age to feel embarrassed and confused about my body. It wasn’t just that menstruation was shameful and dirty (when I started my periods, it was known as ‘getting the curse’), it was also that we were made to feel that our bodies were the enemy. Too tall, too fat, too skinny, too curvy, not curvy enough – nothing was ever right, ever good enough.

The film and fashion industries – run by men – kept us locked in a permanent cycle of self-loathing. And for those rare individuals who did meet their physical requirements – the Marilyn Monroes and Sharon Stones of this world – their sexuality, their beauty, was also a stick to beat them with. We were all Eve in the garden of Eden, punished for stirring the desires of men.

This generation is having none of it. They don’t accept the imposition of physical restraints on their bodies in order to save the blushes of others, or to protect themselves from unwanted attention. They expect – actually no, they demand – that others respect their boundaries

AS YOUNG WOMEN SEE IT, BREASTS ARE NOT SOMETHING TO BE HIDDEN AWAY

without having to be told. Unlike my generation, who were told to dress down and avoid putting ourselves in danger, they demand more. That is what the Sarah Everard protests were about: an admirable – if ultimately, I fear, naive – concept of a better world for women. And this whole free the nipple, no bra-wearing thing is part of that.

Because, while it has its practical uses, there’s no doubt that the bra has played its part. Like the corset – from which it ultimately derives – it has the curiously paradoxical role of both enhancing and restricting the female form, according to prevailing fashions. Ever since the turn of the 20th century, when bras began to replace corsets, it has literally shaped expectations of femininity. From the bandeau styles of the 20s, designed to suit fashion’s androgynous requirements, to the Jayne Mansfield-style torpedo-shaped enhancements of the 50s, to the eye-popping push-ups of the 90s (when looking like two melons on a stick was the height of chic), the bra has enabled women’s bodies to be shaped by prevailing culture.

It could be that that is about to end. Statistics certainly seem to show that the bra is dying a slow death. A 2021 YouGov poll found that a third of UK women stopped wearing bras during lockdown months, while researchers at the University of Portsmouth and St Mary’s University reported a 70 per cent slump in bra wearing during lockdown, with a quarter of women saying they had no intention of going back.

Perhaps women like me, who will always seek solace in a bit of underwiring and a cushioned strap, will come to be seen as old-fashioned throwbacks, scowling Queen Marys in a world of carefree Dianas. In truth, I suspect not. There will always be a practical side to wearing a bra, and once gravity and age start to take their toll on the defiant lovelies of today, I suspect they too will welcome a bit of support.

Until then, though, I can’t help but admire their spirit. Even if I don’t quite know

where to look.

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