Little Cup: A Life in Lingerie

Big Cup Little Cup lingerie blog

This title is a little misleading, but I couldn’t resist the alliteration. It makes it sound as though I have lived a life in plentiful lingerie (I don’t know about you, but this is bringing good old Marilyn to mind for me; reclining in a negligee but drawing that she only wears channel no.5 to bed regardless). This isn’t me. My bust-size, frustration with fittings, dislike of seeing myself topless in that hideous changing room lighting, and the ridonkulous price-tag accompanying something that ‘no on is going to see anyway!’ (well, apart from the boyfriend, but he should love me regardless) has inclined me to … well … be probably precisely the opposite of what a lingerie blogger should be.


Well, now is the beginning of my journey, at least. And all in the interest of variety, heh? We’ve already got a clued up, stocked-up Big Cup on this blog. I’m here to represent the little-cup-ladies inclined to frugality. CAN I GET AN AMEN? Sorry. I’ll focus now. Promise.

So, to sum up my life in lingerie, I’ll quote someone’s response to hearing that I was involved in a lingerie blog: “But Charley hates having her photo taken, and she hardly ever wears a bra!” I can’t even pretend it isn’t true.

But I must say – I’m as partial to some pretty underwear as anyone. It just so happens that A) I’ve probably never had a bra that fits probably, and therefore have branded ‘bra’ as a concept as universally uncomfortable, and B) I’ve never dedicated the time or money to underwear hunting. But luckily I now have a compadre who has declared it her duty – nay, her mission! – to reclothe and re-educate me. So welcome to the documentation of my humiliation … I mean, informative blog of this process.

If I’ve been fitted more than twice in my life, then I’ve blocked them out, probably due to the trauma of said occasions. The first time was (predictably) at the behest of my Mother, dragging a barely-pubescant Charley, puce in her embarrassment, towards the bright lights of Barkers, for (in her own words) “First bra and school shoes! Just something to cover your bumpy bits under your school shirt.”

Yes. It was mortifying.

I left barkers with (god knows what size) nude-coloured soft-cup non-wired thing. After the first wash it looked like something you’d blow your nose on. Not the most inviting of introductions to the world of lingerie …

Second time (in living memory) was La Senza. I was probably 16 at that time, since I’d been let lose in Leeds without adult supervision. I was determined (I repeat: determined!) to find something that would at least give me the appearance of having breasts, and wasn’t black, white or nude. (My mum is a great fan of practical underwear: can’t you tell?) A shop assistant leapt on me the minute I entered … she could probably smell the fear and inexperience … and dragged me into a fitting room. She measured me up as a D-cup. Unhelpfully, I don’t remember the back size, but I do remember laughing in her face. A D-cup? D-CUP?! That was reserved for the Jordan-types of the world. D was a vague number in the alphabet, a long way down the list A, which was the letter I was normally sized at. D-cup, what a joke. She proved it, however, by managing to sell me a rather pretty purple bra which sort-of-fit, and was a D. It wasn’t nude, and that was the point, but I left the shop believing that La Senza probably told flat-chested girls they were bigger than they were, for vanity and sales reasons alone. What a tricksy scheme, I thought …

The intervening time has been relatively uneventful. I generally wear 32 or 34 Bs and As, normally from M&S, and normally on sale. Although, since beginning this endeavour, I have been noticing that my old-reliables don’t … fit. I can’t imagine how I didn’t notice before. On some, the cups are MASSIVE, and literally stand out centimetres from my actual breasts. Straps slide down which I’ve been subconsciously retrieving for years without a thought, and backs ride-up aplenty. I generally have a very small bra draw, kitted out with around seven bras (one of which is a hand-me-down, one strapless, one stick-on never worn, and two came from a multi-pack of the same thing in different colours). I’m a sorry case indeed.

I gave up on nice underwear or caring about bosoms a long time ago. Historically, my underwear wish has been to achieve a cleavage. It’s never happened. I think my boobs might be far apart, or something (if that’s a thing?) Anyway, no matter the amount of coaxing, it ain’t never happened. What you gonna do? There’s more to life.

I’ll also briefly mention (since this is meant to be an introduction to all-things-us) my third boob. I first noticed my third boob in April, when it was merely the size of a Sicilian olive, but it has grown recently to roughly the size of a fig. Lucky girl, huh? No cleavage, but three boobs! I’m kidding, of course, although I shouldn’t be so flippant. I’ve been through all the yucky tests though which have ruled out cancer. I’ll talk about this more in another (special) post, but I have a significantly large breast lump which will be removed in the near future. Breast surgery! I take great delight in saying I’m going to have breast surgery. People always have a brief expression of shock before carefully rearranging their face. So, I’ll so be diving into the world of post-operative-bras … I’m not even sure if I’m going to need one for lump-removal or if they’re generally intended for ‘proper’ boob jobs, but I have a lingerie blog now, so I’m damn well going to try some out!

So, that’s me as Little Cup. Now to hear from cardboard box …

little cup signature


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