“Plunge, balcony, t-shirt or push-up bra?”
“What the fuck is a plunge bra?”
Womanhood doesn’t begin when you leave primary school, or when your period starts, or when you turn eighteen. Womanhood begins with a formative experience in an M&S bra fitting room.
I was ambushed. Being twelve and wholly against the idea of exposing myself in front of a random lady, I was horrified when a sweet, middle-aged Bra Fitterer led me into a brightly lit cubicle, adorned with coat hangers and signs advertising rhubarb hand cream. In a well-meaning, but ultimately misguided, move, the Bra Fitterer decided to remove her own top so that I would feel less embarrassed about my own predicament. Unfortunately, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. With no desire to offend the Bra Fitterer (I’m sure her breasts were lovely) I burst into tears. I politely fired her as my Bra Fitterer and recruited my mother. Unlike the M&S-employed flasher, my mother kept her clothes on, but lacked the knowledge to find me an appropriate bra. But this is to be expected, which brings me to my opening question:
“What the fuck is a plunge bra?”
Do you know? Probably not. From my extensive research, I can tell you that a plunge bra either looks like your average bra, or slightly resembles the M5 – the very long cups become the verge and your skin becomes the tarmac. This did not occur to me at the time. I was too busy cowering in the cubicle, reluctantly allowing my mother to pass me bras that I could’ve comfortably camped in. After explaining to her that no, I do not want a ‘Delicate Doreen’ in ‘camel’ OR ‘light beige,’ my mum found the ‘training bra’ section and we were on our way. After two and a half hours and a horrifying interaction with several boys from my class, I was sat in the M&S café with a bacon sandwich and a face bearing an uncanny resemblance to the thousand-yard stare.
Seven years later and I am a woman who buys her own bras! This has done a great deal to heal my M&S-related trauma but being sat in a lecture perusing the Ann Summers bras triggered an echo from my past:
‘What the fuck is a plunge bra?’
Don’t worry, I didn’t start crying into my Chaucer handout but it did make me stop and consider the language of bras. To begin with, I considered how my mother refers to bras as ‘upper decker flopper stopper boulder holders,’ which is a succinct and practical way to describe a bra. At risk of someone noticing that I was staring intently at the lady modelling ‘SEXY LACE PLANET BRA AND THONG SET’ I then considered what Ms Summers was aiming for by producing a range of bras called ‘SEXY LACE PLANET.’ Who is the ‘planet?’ Me? I don’t want to look like a planet. Maybe the bra and thong set are extra-terrestrials from this ‘SEXY LACE PLANET.’ Should I suggest it for a possible girls’ holiday location? Whatever the reason, it does seem like an odd marketing choice. Almost as odd, perhaps, as how all bra-makers have collectively decided to name bras after women.
I asked my boyfriend about this because I was wondering if there are any male equivalents. He thought that it was an odd question:
‘Hello, have you ever worn a pair of boxers called Keith? Nigel? Have you ever tried to find your namesake in boxer form?’
(Apparently, the answer is ‘no? That would be weird.’)
InTheStyle explains how some designers name clothing items to make them seem personified and desirable, as well as the added bonus of people enjoying buying clothing with their name. But this doesn’t answer all my questions. If this technique is so successful, why is it only used on women? And why do we use it on the most private items of clothing – the clothing you would probably least like to think of as a person?
I do think that it works, at least to some extent. In Boux Avenue, you can buy an Aliyah bra and a Nicolette bra. Along with Doreen, Nicolette and Aliyah have taken on personalities of their own. They wear gold jewellery and make joggers and a hoodie look expensive. They would very gently and kindly tell you if you had spinach in your teeth. They order pad thai at Wagamama’s. Obviously, ‘Doreen’ resembles a young Adriana Lima. Once I’d got to this point in the lecture, I had started to feel a little strange about these unmeetable girls being in charge of boob-holding. Is it weird? Objectifying? Why do women need the help of others? Why can’t we be independent, emancipated from imaginary underwear women? Does Nicolette mind that I accidentally dropped a bit of pasta and an olive or two into her cups at lunchtime?
Crucially, no. I understand that this is a capitalist scheme to make me buy uncomfortable and unnecessary bras and I am sure the fundamentals of this practice are deeply unfeminist but I enjoy having these ladies with me. As much as ‘upper decker flopper stopper boulder holder’ is exactly what it says on the tin, it is extremely unsexy. I would also argue that ‘plunge’ is fairly unsexy because it rhymes with ‘clunge.’ Bras, often uncomfortable, need a sexy silver (or red/black/mesh/floral patterned) lining. For me, it is found in their reassurance that I will simultaneously resemble Aliyah and that she will be quietly supporting me wherever I go. Ultimately, an odd concept that has been forced upon us by the great bra-making lords but one that is interesting to come to terms with. Besides, who doesn’t want to feel like a young Adriana Lima in a 10am Chaucer lecture?