Cleavage courage
Alt title: Booby bravery
Last year I embarked on a mission to get more comfortable showing some cleavage.
…and the fact that it took five takes to type that sentence starts to explain why.
It began with another personal process I’ll write more about soon. In the spring of 2023, I gave up dieting. Naturally, my body changed shape, including my boobs. (Read: they both got bigger, but I had to write a gentle segue sentence because I’m a woman raised in the ‘90s).
Thankfully, I had help navigating this challenging transition. And when my therapist asked me to list the benefits of my (brave!) decision, I jokingly mentioned my bigger boobs. They’d always been so small. Now they were…fun? I didn’t have language for so much of what was going on then, but when I looked at my chest I felt happy. I cannot express to you how much of a win that was during this phase of my life.
A year after my body settled into its many changes, I worked with a stylist to prep for the launch of my first novel. I picked Holly because she focused on clothing that built confidence, defined self-image, and restored a sense of power in your body. I needed all that and more for this very big moment in my career. In my life.
Together we went through my closet to find items I owned and liked.
One among them was a black lace bodysuit that fit me like a glove and made me feel like that image of Peggy Olson with the cigarette dangling from her lips. I put it on with this lavender power suit I owned, then grabbed a sheer-ish top to go over it. Holly let me do so, then suggested we try it under the suit without the extra layer.
It was booby. Or, cleavy? I don’t know the term because I’ve never had to use it. To be very specific, you could see 1.5-inch waning crescent moon slivers of my breast skin, and that made me very anxious. But it also made me look - in my what’s-less-than-humble? opinion - very good. The V of the top against the high-waisted suit pants paired with an oversized blazer was just…right for me? It elongated my neck and changed the dynamics of my shoulders and waist. I was shocked by what I saw in the mirror.
I felt like my body was the correct answer on a geometry test question.
And I had rarely felt like my body was the correct answer to any question.
Holly and I tried on dozens more looks that day, many of which showed some amount of my décolletage. Objectively I loved them all (and bought several), but when have we ever been able to hold onto objectivity around our bodies?
I was not raised to show my cleavage. You either, right? Descriptions were used for the types of women that did, which I will not include here because you already know them and because I don’t believe in stereotyping women based on their appearances.
Except - apparently - if that woman is me.
I tried to wear that same black lace bodysuit to dinner weeks after my time with Holly. This time I paired it with a hip-hugging red sweater skirt and a little black capelet (she’s unsure about cleavage but well-versed in capelets…). The ensemble didn’t make it past my bedroom mirror. I could not stop thinking about what someone/anyone/everyone would think when they saw my waning crescents on display (I think if we keep using it it’ll stick).
These thoughts I’ll detail, but not without the truth I’m working to believe beside them.
Jessie looks trashy / That’s an opinion and I don’t share it.
Jessie looks inappropriate / That’s an opinion and I don’t share it.
Jessie is too old to wear that / That’s an opinion and I don’t share it.
Whoa. Jessie’s never shown cleave before. What’s going on? / That’s a fact. What’s going on is, I’ve changed.
After the failed outfit incident I told my friend Juliet that I was working on having the bravery to show some boob. She celebrated the plan. I told my husband, too. Wouldn’t you know, he was also a fan!
I started by wearing things with slightly less deep of a V or squeeze of my C’s. If I wasn’t ready for va-va-voom at a certain venue or among a specific crowd, I wore the look around the house. Sometimes I literally scanned through pictures of women in cleave-revealing outfits before getting dressed to remind myself that I like how it looks and that is what matters. And most importantly, I tried to have compassion for the baby-stepping this all took, even when the Peggy Olson on my shoulder told me I was being a bad feminist and to get over it already! I quickly reminded her of her Season One storyline, and she shut the hell up.
For my birthday - four months into Mission: More Moon Slices - I bought myself this cherry red bathing suit that fits my top in a way I really like.
I wore it to the pool with pride and took a photo to commemorate my progress. Then I (bravely!) included it in an IG carousel of shots about my special day. Moments later my friend Juliet texted, cheering my body on. And that reminded me just how powerful it is to tell our people what we’re working on getting courageous about. Her yay meant more than all the imaginary nasty comments left swirling around my head.
It’s not brave to show some boob. We all have different bodies and definitions of the ways they look beautiful. But it is brave to quiet the peanut gallery of people’s opinions. It is brave to question the way you were told you should look, especially as a woman. It is brave to search for pieces of your body to celebrate, especially when it’s changing. And it is brave to ask for as much help as you need along your way.
So now when you see my moon slices, I’ll just assume you’re thinking this:
Look! Jessie’s boobs! She did it! / Yes, I did.
XO, -J
This week’s brave confession: I wasn’t going to include the part about quitting dieting in this post because I’m afraid to write about it, but I did so now I’m on the hook to be even braver.
