I always assumed that breast implants were just a phase we were going through. Fake boobs, to me, were like overalls with one strap off or oversized sweaters with tights. I thought that, at some point, we would all look back and laugh at ourselves. “Oh, breast augmentation,” we’d say, “that was silly.”
Of course, this is not the case. Sometimes I’m weirdly naive and optimistic about the things I care about. I know this. However, I was surprised to read this morning that breast enhancement surgery is actually ON THE RISE. According to the New York Times, the number of breast augmentations in the world has increased 40 percent in the past decade. What a terrible way to start the day.
It’s not that I’m against people changing their bodies with surgery or modifications in general (that lizard guy is kind of a hero of mine actually). But, as a lover of breasts, boob jobs just make me sad.
Seeing a woman with fake boobs is like listening to the Counting Crows cover of “Big Yellow Taxi.” It’s like going to see The Color Purple… On Ice. It’s like the part in Wayne’s World where they screw up the theme song and then they get told they can’t make fun of the guests anymore. It’s like Woodstock 99.
It’s just… WHY?
I’m not trying to tell anyone what to do with their own body. (I certainly don’t want anyone to tell me what to do with mine.) I also understand that there are often medical reasons for breast reductions. Not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about women ruining a pair of perfectly good breasts because they don’t think they’re big enough. I know I’m just one voice crying out in the wilderness here, but listen: Your Boobs Are Awesome.
Okay? They just are. They’re soft and nice. Okay?
Fake boobs are weird and scary and make people uncomfortable and real boobs are great. I realize now that I have been sheltered and naive, but I always thought that was, you know, obvious.
[NYT via Jezebel]