It’s something every girl is told she’ll get, eventually. That’s what my older sister told me after she went from an A cup to a D cup seemingly overnight when she was in high school. Like any little sister, I wanted to be just like her: I wanted boobs. “Just wait a few years, it’ll happen to you, too,” she told me.
So I waited. And waited. And bought push-up bras. And waited.
But they never came. What a ripoff, right? I have my period, I cry over boys, I shave everything below the neck. I am a card-carrying lady in every sense of the word, except for one. I’m flat as a board, and no amount of weight gain or hormonal birth control can change that.
I can just hear the moans of girls with double Ds. “Ugh you’re so lucky, big boobs are so annoying,” and “I wish I had boobs like yours.”
*Eye rolls into infinity.*
Okay, fair. You can think that. But what if you woke up one morning and they weren’t there? I guess at first it would be cool not to have to wear a bra all the time (and trust me, that’s the only good thing about having small boobs), but what about when you want to go out with your friends and there’s a gaping in your dress where your boobs are supposed to be? Or when you go home with a guy and you won’t let him take off your push up bra because of how you think you look without it?
No one should want to feel like less of woman, because that’s what it feels like to be flat chested. If I get undressed down to my underwear, there’s literally no difference between me and a pre-pubescent teenage boy. Surprisingly, it’s hard to feel sexy.
It’s not just about looking good for a guy. Guys like boobs, obviously, but so can girls. I love boobs. I’m obsessed with them. Maybe because I don’t have them, but to me, they are the epitome of sex appeal. That’s part of my sexual identity. I like guys, and I’m strictly dickly, but I can appreciate a nice set of boobs. Boobs are great. Seriously, girls love the feeling of their own boobs. In a totally creepy but honest way, I want that.
For any flat chested girl, there’s always a moment when you realize you’re stuck like this for life. I first realized that they weren’t going to “come in” after my freshman year of college. Everyone gains weight, and I knew it would happen, but I was secretly kind of excited thinking that maybe some of that weight would appear on my chest. It didn’t. In that moment, I lost all hope. That’s when I first started seriously considering surgery. I’ve always wanted it, but I guess this is when it became “real.”
I know the risks. I have a million pictures saved on my phone of the “perfect” pair of boobs. I’ve seen just about every breast augmentation video on YouTube. I know how it works. I know the difference between periareolar and inframammary incisions and moderate and high profile implants. I’ve spent literally hours upon hours researching everything having to do with breast implants, and it only makes me more sure that this is what I want to do.
This isn’t just a spontaneous decision, like walking around at the mall and buying the first pair of cute boots you spot in the store window. I wanted this for as long as I can remember.
I want to look good in clothes. I want to feel like a woman, because at almost twenty-two years old, I still don’t know what that means. I want to look good naked. I want to have sex with lights on and my bra off. I want to feel like a fucking goddess, and I know what that sounds like. I’m supposed to be all “I am woman, hear me roar,” and not care about how my body looks or what anyone thinks of it, and that’s partially true, but I care. I care a lot. Since I’m the one that has to live in this body for the rest of my life, it would be nice if I could enjoy it, too.
The stereotype and the stigma is what makes me hesitate, if anything. I’m a smart, college-educated woman. My friends and the guys I date wouldn’t exactly characterize me as someone with low self-esteem, and I definitely don’t have body dysmorphia disorder. I don’t want botox or fillers or any other cosmetic procedure. I just really, really hate my boobs and want to change them.
There are tons of girls my age who have gotten reductions and think it’s ridiculous for someone like me to want implants when having boobs gave them such major problems, but I honestly think we both want the same thing. We both want to be “normal,” whatever that is. Their boobs are too big; mine are too small. We both just want to be in the middle somewhere, and that’s all I want. I don’t want to jump from an A cup to a double D cup, but somewhere in the middle would make me happy.
There are a million things women do to make themselves look better. We apply makeup, we dye our hair, we wear waist trainers, and it’s not always because we want to look good for someone else. I wear makeup because I feel more confident when I’m wearing it. I wear heels because I like the way my ass looks. I want to get laser hair removal because I hate shaving. I’m getting a boob job because it’s something that will make me happier with my body. Does that make me vain, or a bimbo? That’s your opinion. Getting a cosmetic procedure done changes someone’s appearance, not their personality. I’m still going to be the same ambitious, smart, silly human I was before.
When I told someone I was thinking about getting the surgery, they asked me, “Is it really worth it?” Breast augmentations cost a lot of money. They need to be replaced every 10-20 years. There are risks associated with any invasive surgery, and even though breast augmentation is the number one cosmetic surgery in the United States, there are still a ton of things that could go wrong.
Knowing the risks, I can say with 100 percent honesty that I’m still so excited to get the procedure done. Maybe it’s selfish and maybe it’s vain, but I want this. I’ve wanted it for a long time, and it’s my body, so at the end of the day, I get to decide what to do and if it’s worth it to me. My happiness and my confidence is worth it. Why wait until I’m thirty or forty to be happy with my body? Every guy I’ve been with has told me it doesn’t matter, and that may be true for them, but it matters to me. That’s why I’m doing this.
It’s not about looking good for other people. It’s about feeling good in your own skin. I think everyone deserves to have that. .
Image via Shutterstock
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Cristina Montemayor
Cristina is a Grandex Writer and Content Manager. She was an intern for over two years before she graduated a semester early to write about college full time, which makes absolutely no sense. She regretfully considers herself a Carrie, but is first and foremost a Rory. She tends to draw strong reactions from people. They are occasionally positive. You can find her in a bar as you're bending down to tie your shoes, drinking Dos XX and drunk crying to Elton John. Email her: cristina@grandex.co (not .com).
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