Padded, push-up bras are surprisingly contentious considering they're just small pieces of foam inside a bra. Of course, when they are on a woman's breasts, their significance and sexual nature gets exponentially magnified.
When's the last time a voyeuristic shot of a woman lying crumpled in her underwear on the floor in a defeated position, as if she'd just been thrown there, facing away from the camera, made you go "Ooh, I should order that demi cup!" Never? Yeah, me neither.
The genesis of this post is not one thing in particular, but a many, many things I've seen and read and heard all rolled up like an avalanche that finally needs to be addressed.
The funny thing about being a lesbian in the lingerie industry is that it feels like a paradox: I see versions of myself everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It's undeniable that female homoeroticism plays a part in so many lingerie editorials, both implicitly and explicitly, that it's not difficult for me to find…
Essentially, what I love about lingerie is how it can express a part of you that has nothing to do with what everyone else sees. True, your choice of undergarment affects the look of the clothes on top of it (imagine a bullet bra vs. your classic Victoria's Secret push-up) but within the most basic guidelines, you do…
Call me old-fashioned, but I've always believed a certain degree of discretion — or, really, confidentiality — should prevail in professions like gynecology, drugstore clerking and bikini waxing. And now I'm thinking this should extend to bra-fitting.
The kind of lingerie a guy likes to buy for a woman and the kind of underwear a woman likes to buy for herself are totally different: