Why It's Okay To Be Part Of The Itty Bitty Titty Committee

My whole life I've never been more than an A-cup (unless we count the time I gained twenty pounds abroad, no judgment) and I’m not afraid to admit that. To be honest, I don’t really have to admit to anything -- one look at me and you know I’m no C-cup.

For the most part, my shirts lie flat against my chest, save for a small bump that vaguely identifies me as female. I’d like to say that it’s all me, but it’s mostly my extra-padded push-up. I’ve never hunted for low-cut tops to go dancing in (because there’s nothing to show-off), opting instead for open-backs and crop-tops that girls with boobs have trouble wearing. But I’ve never felt like I was missing out.

According to The American Society of Plastic Surgeons, in 2012 about 286,274 women had breast augmentation surgery, while about 42,000 had breast reductions. Why do we always equate bigger as being better? If you ask those 42,000 women why they chose to reduce their size, they will tell you the opposite. Smaller means less back pain, more swimsuit choices, and easier work-outs. Sure, bigger boobs might be more attractive to the gentlemen in the room, but the complications of having them outweigh the attention. And, even after their reduction surgeries, men still chase these women down.

In truth, I quite like having small tits and I wouldn’t consider enhancing them. Sure, many of my small-chested peers have undergone plastic surgery, and I’ve always encouraged the decision if that choice will build a woman’s self-esteem and confidence. I don’t hate on those who want or have larger boobs, I just don’t want them for myself. Instead, I’ve got an ass that speaks for itself.

I’m not saying that my life is better because my hooters always fit inside my t-shirts. I’ve had my fair share of sheba-shaming – I was the last to graduate from training bras in high school and I’m no stranger to getting passed over by guys who prefer jugs over hugs.

But here’s the thing: I don’t let my lack of lady lumps bring me down. In some instances, they’ve actually worked to my advantage. For one, I don’t receive the negative attention that a full-busted woman has to endure. People really look me in the eye because there’s nothing to look at on my chest. I’ve fortunately never had to deal with inappropriate gropes or an uncomfortable male gaze (well, maybe from the creeps on the subway).

I can pretty much wear any article of clothing, and when I wear a V-neck shirt to work, I don’t give off an overtly sexual vibe. I can run up and down the stairs and it’ll never hurt. Putting on my seat belt and donning cross-body bags aren’t a problem. Cute lingerie isn’t off limits and my size rarely sells out. People don’t falsely believe that I’m top heavy (again, my butt helps to take care of that) and I can go bra-less on any occasion. It’s a good life I lead with me and my little ones.

That’s not to say there wasn’t a time when I was insecure about my Presidency of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. When everyone was going to second base in the eighth grade, I was shyly protecting my assets in fear that my lack of mass would make me a joke. In a steamy makeout session, I’d purposely toss my bras to a far corner of the room so guys wouldn’t read my cup size.

I am guilty of buying B-cups and stealing my sister’s in an effort to make them appear larger. (They came in handy after those aforementioned 20 lbs though). And I still am a sucker for marketing – I buy push-ups and padding and gels and cutlets when a dress calls for it or when I do want that attention. (Hey, I’m still human!) But that doesn’t mean I feel bad about what I got; it means that I can still appreciate big knockers as much as the next dude.

Eventually, I grew up. I realized that when guys feel my boobs it isn’t all that big of a deal (probably because they are the size they are). I know that I don’t need to feel insecure – that it’s pretty obvious what I’m packing, and the men I get with can tell beforehand and are cool with that. Breast size doesn’t make someone more of a woman or not and it sure as hell doesn’t make someone nonetheless sexy. To quote LMFAO, “I’m sexy and I know it.”