Earlier this week, I bought 3 new bras for my trip to Paris. Because I just couldn't see me going to Paris in my tired old badly fitting beige ones.

The new bras are all the same size and manufacturer. I decided to wear each one once to make sure it fit - because you don't really know until you're about 10 hours into the day.

Monday's bra was a cute yellow number that looked great under a low-cut shirt and my green suede jacket. Comfy and supportive all day. Forgot I was wearing it. Thinking of marrying it.

Tuesday's bra was pink and a little tight across the chest and rode up a little. Had to adjust it a few times. Felt a little saggy, but not too bad.

Today's bra is a black lace torture device. It is tight across the chest, saggy, and the underwires are poking my arm. My ARM! As I type!

Do you know how hard it is to type while being poked in the upper arm by your underwire? Do you? Well?

I do NOT UNDERSTAND THE BRASSIERE INDUSTRY. I am completely baffled. I am about to be umpty-ump years old and having been wearing bras for most of those years and I am no closer to foundation garment zen than I was as a teenager.

We caught a piece about a bra shop in Paris that will hand-make a bra to women's precise measurements. The cost? Around 2 grand. If I had it, would I spend it? YES. YES. YES. Because these things NEED a bra. They can't be let to waggle loose, you know. They could put an eye out. Probably mine.

So - 3 bras in identical sizes and identical manufacturer with the results being 1 that fits, 1 that will do but not great, and 1 that should be classified as a weapon. Ye Gods.

Well, I hope Paris likes Yellow.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:43 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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