Elastic Armor LIZY SIMONEN

Lizy Simonen

Elastic Armor

It was the year of sheer polyester chiffon frills. Plastics that kept you hot in the sun and frozen in the shade. Quick drying everywhere but the armpits, which soaked heavy with dark shadows of shame.

I wanted men’s Diesel jeans with five hundred pockets and no need to consider the inconvenience of my hips. I wanted thick jersey that would smooth over every bulge of pudge, not tuck under each roll like cling film. Socks that covered my ankles and waistlines that covered anything.

The flyer in my hand was as garish pink as the shop that produced it. ‘Presenting our first ever sportswear collection! Release day discount.’

A sports bra had appeal. There was a fading scar between my breasts from an underwire that had snapped and gouged my skin. Rather than go straight to the sale racks at the back of the shop, I went to see what sportswear could offer.

The Bra was a wonder, a mesh of tactical tactile textiles. The straps met behind my neck and a band of elastic ran between my shoulder blades. Like a holster in an action film. Concealed carry.

Two layers of Lycra stretched across my chest. The first compressed my breasts into nothing. The second layers secured two foam cups that bounced back into shape when poked. A pair of fake tits to wear over the squashed reality. It seemed like a joke. They were a far cry from the Double-Cup Push-Up Balconette Experience that morphed my cleavage into an uncanny valley, but they were no more natural.

I looked in the mirror.

Oh no. It was perfect.

Everything fit. There were no wires to stab me. No frills or clinging or even bulges. My chest felt different, solid. But I looked normal. The overall reduction and addition of the bra left me flatter than usual, but looking like myself.

I was re-sculpted.

You want control, said The Bra. You want armor.

To forget the inconvenience of poorly supported flesh for a while. To not fear an escaped nipple or an unsightly strap. I would pay full (release day discount) price for that.

Some clothes are better now. Waistbands reach my waist, my skirts have pockets, and I haven’t been betrayed by an underwire in nearly 15 years. Sheer blouses remain, damn them. I wear a lot of jumpers.

And I’ve still got The Bra. The elastic isn’t as great anymore, and it looks downright bulky compared to the seamless microfiber version I bought last year. But it’s part of my armory. A piece of control.

Batten down the hatches, says The Bra. Let’s get to work.