Last week, I called a friend up to say “Hi.” I caught her at a moment I hadn’t expected. A single woman who made a livable salary when last we spoke, she found herself no longer able to get by due to the rise in inflation. Through tears, she explained that every significant necessity of hers had gone up, so much so in fact, that she now needed to dip into her savings just to get by.
She went on to say that she was in desperate need of new bras but that at $60 a pop, she just couldn’t afford them. “I’m working overtime and picking up extra work so that I can hopefully buy some bras soon.”
My heart sank at the notion that we’ve hit a point in our nation where hardworking people (who are doing everything right) have to choose between food and bras — two basics, both needed. I also found myself baffled by the price tag of a good bra for women who require unusual sizes as I never had that issue.
Me? I’m a 36 B-cup. I can find bras just about anywhere for $20 or less. I am also in a different financial position than many. But for women like my friend, it is different. For her, and many like her, it feels really overwhelming and upsetting when you know that you have done everything the collective “they” told you to do to achieve a good life, only to watch it fade away while you take on a second job to pay for what others are being given for free. Talk about feeling disillusioned, demotivated, and distrusting, including of the bra manufacturers who obviously are exploiting a need perpetuated by cup size. It is truly hard for me to believe that any bra should cost the equivalent of a few days of groceries for some. What a tragedy!
“Well,” I said. “Maybe we should start burning them again as a declaration of our freedom. We did it once.” I received a half-hearted chuckle at the hands of that suggestion, which led to an understanding pep talk and, eventually, quite a splendid hour on the phone.
When I finally hopped off, I found myself buying five of the most expensive bras I had ever purchased in my life and sent them to my friend. “We will get through this,” I said to myself, “but only if we stick together.”
“Su sujetador es mi sujetador!”
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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