Rack Focus

[I wrote this on May 2nd.]

If you live in New York or read any New York-based media (Times, New York, any fashion magazines), by now you have encountered the recurring article about the Old-School Bra Shoppe, ruled by a feisty octogenarienne who will “size you up” in 10 seconds.

In every single one of these articles, our intrepid heroine/ reporter walks through the door, is immediately sized up by Bra Lady, whisked into a dressing room, and walks out with a shapely, well-supported rack, abashed at her ignorance of her actual bra size all these years.

Since returning from my honeymoon, I have lost 17 pounds. Do you know how? By going nearly completely vegan! (we had fish on Easter – Trey’s mom was trying so hard! and some eggplant rollatini two weeks ago.) And SEVENTEEN POUNDS melted away --the extra weight I put on from October- December that came from drinking most of the leftover wedding champagne in our house (often while talking to Ashbloem on the phone!) and from all the beer we drank on our honeymoon. I feel no deprivation whatsoever: I drink wine, I eat until I am full, but mostly whole foods and a ton of vegetables. My skin is clearer than it has ever been, and I feel amazing. And I haven’t been to the gym.

However, although now most of my clothes fit better than before ( and I can wear clothes I couldn’t fit into a year ago!) my bras had gone to shit. The rode up in the back, they chafed. They were phoning it in, my bras. I needed a serious bra fitting: Clearly I was no longer a 34B – but what was I? a Birkinesque 34A? A saucy 32B(ardot)? Regardless, I needed new bras for my creamy (soymilky?) vegan décolletage, and this time I would make no mistakes.

So I made the pilgrimage to Town Shop. I expected to be assigned to a Jewish grandmother, but my bra guru was a gorgeous young Jamaican girl named Francine, who led me to a dressing room and told me to strip. Suddenly I felt shy! I mean, now that I am married, and haven’t done theater in nearly 2 years, no one sees my boobs anymore!

I explained the situation, that was no longer a 34B (as I extricated myself from the grossest laundry-day bra I owned) “Oh GIRL, you’ve been wearing the wrong size!”

I agreed wholeheartedly, awaiting Francine’s divine pronouncement.

“Look how small your back is! YOU ARE A 32D. Elle MacPherson makes good bras in 32D for you. I will be right back.”

Holy shit! I forgot that cup size is a factor of the breast size-to-back size ratio! I felt weirdly proud for no reason. Like a 12-year old getting her period!

Francine returned with an armful of lace. At Town Shop they do NOT mess around: they put the bra on for you and show you how to do it right, which involves bending forward while put your arms in the straps.

I looked in the mirror and did not recognize my breasts – or rather, they looked a bit like they did ten years ago! The band fit snugly around my ribcage, I couldn’t feel the shoulderstraps at all -- Awesome!

I walked out of Town Shop with my new bras and immediately phoned Trey at work:

“Honey? Ummm, I have something to tell you – I am not the woman you thought you married.”