For years we have fought this battle. With the emergence of the sun and change of season, I call on the women of Seattle to join me on the frontlines against our greatest nemesis: boob sweat. For those who don’t understand, let me describe it with imagery. It’s like a continuous stream similar to that of the niagara falls running down your chest. No matter what you do, or how little clothing you wear, the amount of perspiration collected underneath your great peaks is shocking. Someone call National Geographic because my underboobage sweat is enough to classify as another great lake.
So what are we chested folx supposed to do? How do we address this? Bra no bra, shirt no shirt, the armor one wears to war against the slippery nip is entirely of their choosing. But even in our attempt to liberate these sweater stretchers, many may find that society responds in a less receptive manner. I have learned this from experience, in one of my many accidental, yet memorable escapades.
It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. Walking in a sheer black tank top, I was making my way across campus from my apartment complex. Upon arrival though at my desired destination, I realised there was cool breeze, more than usual, drifting across my chest. Glancing downward, I noticed a giant white orb poking from opening of my tank top. It was in this moment I realised one of the twins had b-lined right out of my shirt.
I don’t know when this happened, or how, but it did. It wasn’t the experience thought that was damaging, but the reactions I endured upon telling it. Friend upon friend, parent upon parent, each reaction given was a criticism of what I could have done better, of what I shouldn’t have worn. Reactions such as these provoked a feeling of shame within myself that wasn’t there originally. I was ok with what happened, but others didn’t feel similar. They broke me down so I would be on their level.
Boobs are boobs, they are no strange phenomenon. It’s important to remember that shame shouldn’t be imposed upon the melons, and more importantly, those who bear them. Free the nip. Embrace the boob slip.
—Shelby Barnes, Arts & Entertainment Editor