Last year I decided once and for all to stop dieting and learn to eat healthy well-balanced meals with the hope of someday attaining a healthy weight. After embracing a healthier lifestyle my weight initially climbed; I had been starving myself prior to this epiphany and needed to reset my metabolism. After climbing back to ‘pre-starvation diet’ weight the scale has started to trickle downward again, slowly but steadily. Losing weight slowly through lifestyle changes is proven to be the most permanent and effective way to maintain a healthy weight; but unfortunately I, like many women, have a one major issue with trickle down weight loss.
Our faces and neck are often the first places people report noticing weight loss. The scale goes down and people start saying “your face looks so thin” but the fat-pants are still tight. If you continue to lose weight beyond the thin-face then upper arm definition starts peeking out from beneath a former layer of fat. This period is often marked with increased usage of tank tops and cap sleeved shirts. Just when we begin to gain a little body confidence we unfortunately begin losing the part of our body that most of us would prefer to keep; our boobs.
Losing weight from the top down is one of the cruel ironies of dieting, fitness, and weight loss. The very areas that most women despise, our hips, butt, thighs, and tummy, are the last to disappear. Yet our breasts, the one body part that even the waif promoting fashion industry likes large, shrinks before our eyes. For most of us lucky enough to get the “T” the “A” isn’t far behind; karmic balance. I know life isn’t fair, but this really isn’t fair. I’ve dropped 2 cup sizes in 15 months, but only one butt size. This isn’t just in my head, during a recent trip to buy undergarments the following traumatic conversation occurred:
Sales Woman: “What size are you?”
Sales Woman: “Oh no you’re not honey, let’s measure you.”
Bombchelle: “I was just measured in November, I’m pretty sure that’s right. I lost a little weight but I already dropped from a DD to a D.”
Sales Woman: “It’ll only take a minute.” (tape measure enters scene) “36C.”
Bombchelle: “WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!? You’re kidding, right?”
The good feminist in me shouldn't care about the size of my breasts; just think of all the bras I can burn that no longer fit! The drama in Victoria’s Secret is still traumatic for so many reasons. If I continue losing weight slowly (and healthfully) the size of my rear end will take another year to match my incredible shrinking chest. Rather then being well-proportioned I’ll have a heavier bottom then a luxury cruise liner making the suits I have to wear for work very difficult to purchase. On top of this, the Blonde Bombchelle moniker has just as much to do with embracing my curvy, voluptuous body as it does my hair color (which is causing its own drama, turning strawberry blonde in my “old age”). I wonder what cup size Marilyn and Mae sported since silicone was not an option for them (or, frankly, for me). Is there a minimum cup requirement for bombshell status?
If it sounds like I’m whining it’s because I am. After working out hardcore for a year and losing 15 pounds what do I have to show for it; tinier tatas.