Every girl wants what they don't have but big boobs ain't all they're cracked up to be – Lizzie Williams has finally learnt to love her above-average cup size, but it's been a long journey...
Size matters...it just does.
All of us girls have them and most men obsess over them but when it comes to boobs we all want what we ain't got. Bigger, perkier, and dare I say it...smaller. To admit such a thing feels as though I am, in some way, betraying womankind. But rest assured ladies, I am only talking about a couple of cup sizes.
I have learnt to love my 32E pair but it has been a long journey wrought with confidence issues and many tears (usually shed behind a changing room curtain).
It started as an 11-year-old waking up one day to be suddenly confronted with my chest. I was emotionally scarred by bra fittings, dragged by my wise mum declaring, "a good fitting bra now will stop a miserable and saggy start to middle age". And how grateful I am now for her persistence.
For when your boobs are anything more than a handful, care must be taken to wage war against the undeniable force of gravity, even as a pre-teen. But it was there that a lifetime of fashion frustrations began.
Why, prey tell, do lingerie designers decide their sexy, flirty, lacy numbers are only appropriate for girls with little lady lumps? Why is a DD cup the cut off? The point at which that alluring bra becomes a shadow of its smaller self, instead resembling something you might spot on an elderly neighbour's washing line.
And don't get me started on bikinis...when it comes to swimwear there is just one word...SEPARATES. Just because I am top heavy does not necessarily mean I have the plus size arse to go with.
I have entered many a debate with pals desperate to boost their booblets by a cup size or two. It is easy to assume team DD+ are bursting with big-boobed confidence, but it's not all it's cracked up to be...
Back ache... my life has been plagued by aches and pains, resulting my osteopath regularly reminds me, from boob-induced poor posture (my words not his). We all know the score, shoulders back, stand up straight. But when you have a gigantic chest protruding in front of you, the automatic response is to round the shoulders and hide your rack from the world. It's cost me a fortune in treatment.
Men stare... and not in a good way. Some fail to even make token eye contact, preferring to conduct whole conversations with your cleavage.
Awkward encounters... mainly on public transport. Rush hour on a packed bus or tube will inevitably result in a hugely embarrassing boob graze leaving you red-faced.
Tailoring... equals nightmare. Gapping holes caused by buttons ready to burst under the pressure of your burgeoning chest make smart office-appropriate attire hard to come by.
Catwalk chic... when have you ever spotted an androgynous beaut gliding down the runway sporting the latest collections clothing her massive knockers? It just doesn't happen. What looks effortlessly elegant on a flat chest ends up looking sexed-up wrapped around a plus-size pair. Case in point...strapless, plunging necklines, backless is a no go (going braless is NOT an option, ever), sheer and anything super slinky.
Spontaneous activity... is OUT of the question. Running for a bus? Forget it. Before embarking on even a fast walk it is essential to don the sports bra, so sudden bursts of activity are a big no no, unless you like rocking the black eye look.
It has taken me 20 years to love my 32Es and life is too short. It's all too easy to think life would be better if your chest was bigger, perkier or smaller. So girls, promise me one thing, before you hotfoot it down to Harley Street for a little 'divine' intervention, stop...look in the mirror and try to love the lady lumps bestowed upon you. The grass really ain't always greener.