An open letter to my strapless bra and the clothes have paid the price.
I can only imagine how excited you must get when my fingertips skim by as I search for an outfit. Allow me to explain myself.
It’s not you, it’s my bra. Or maybe it’s me. No, it’s definitely my strapless bra, if we’re being specific.
Let’s rewind it back to where we first met; the clearance rack at my loyalist department store. Not just any store either, this particular store got me through every occasion, dutifully providing me with outfits of all kinds.
It’s no surprise I struck gold that February day, gold referring to the black Bardot style top nestled between dress pants and on-sale sports bras. Not quite crop at crop top status, but not full on shirt either. For long-torsoed women like me, this was a rare find.
Sleek, sexy and leaving my shoulders exposed, I knew you’d would be a challenge for my mediocre bra, yet I bought you anyway.
Fast forward to the end of that day, it’s you, me and my strapless bra in my room. I think we all know where I’m going with this. My strapless bra somehow managed to make you look worse.
This got me thinking, why is the strapless bra so awful? In a world where so many things are evolving and improving, the bra seems to be stuck in the past indefinitely.
You’ve taken residence in the back-left corner of my closet, amongst the off-the-shoulder numbers and halters my strapless bra has rejected and for that, I apologize.
I apologize for trying you on at least once a month, only to make it to the mirror and toss you back to the graveyard corner of other clothes my strapless bra has rejected.
As for now, I just haven’t accepted the fact that it’s just not going to work out with you and my strapless bra. I’m confident one day we’ll work it out
Like I said, it's not you, it’s my bra.