I was not one of those tween-age girls who was dyinngggggg to get boobs. In fact, I straight-up refused to acknowledge their very obvious arrival on the scene that was my chest circa fifth grade. This was no easy feat considering my middle-school uniform shirts were made of thin, white, almost translucent cotton, but my two best friends were still flat as surfboards and I was the oldest of three girls, making me a lonesome pioneer in the puberty department. I blushed and glared at my mom whenever she gently suggested that I might like wearing a bra, huffily crossing my arms over the tender protrusions of my newly minted mosquito bites.
The irony that I am now writing publicly about my boobs 14 years later is not lost on me, but I’m happy to say I eventually made peace with their intrusion. I do wish they were smaller sometimes, or bigger, or perkier, or nipple-ier, but when it comes down to it, I wouldn’t trade them in for a different model. We’ve been through a lot, the three of us: a sunburn in a scalloped bikini, skinny dipping in a potentially contaminated river, weight fluctuations, the “pencil test” (Google it), one halter-top phase, two tube-top phases and a turtleneck love affair that won’t quit — to name a few highlights. It seems I’m not alone in this sentiment. We asked 16 women to wax poetic on their boobage via haiku, and the results are as deliciously weird and wonderful and varied as boobs tend to be themselves. Take a gander at our verbal peep show in the above slideshow and submit your own cleavage homage in the comments below.
OH AND P.S. THEY FEED HUMANS. That’s never not going to be cool.
Graphics by Emily Zirimis and Maria Jia Ling Pitt.