I was at a social gathering recently where I thought I was witness to a subtle yet poignant display of bravery. Despite having visible scar tissue on her back, no doubt the result of some horrific knife attack or an accident with a corrosive liquid, a lovely young lady was proudly wearing a plunging backless dress, exposing her injuries to the world.
‘Good for her,’ I thought. ‘She’s still attractive. Those deep shiny scars, while unarguably noticeable, don’t detract too much from her beauty.”
Then someone pointed out that actually she was just wearing a bra with invisible straps.
Ladies, I get the concept and it’s a sound one. You want to wear an outfit that showcases the sensual curves of your back or shoulders without bringing attention to the scaffolding for your breasts. That’s all fine and dandy, but the word “invisible” in this context is about as apt as referring to a serial killer as “a bit naughty”. Granted, from a distance they do look like damaged skin tissue rather than part of an undergarment, but this hardly qualifies.
You have adorned your torso with strips made from a material only slightly less reflective than the fabric from a high-viz jacket. Of all the components of your outfit fighting to shine the brightest, your silver earrings and your diamond ring are currently trailing joint second to the slug trails running across your back. And all I can think of when I look at you from behind is how sweaty and icky it must be under that incredibly cheap-looking plastic; your skin starved of air as it squeaks underneath the very antithesis of the cotton and silk that tastefully adorns the rest of your body.
Look, here’s the thing about us fellas – we don’t mind the sight of a lacy strap or two. We find it quite appealing sometimes. Because when we look at straps, we think of bras. And when we think of bras, we think of boobs. And in general, we like boobs.
When I look at a transparent bra strap, I think of slug excrement. And for the record, I don’t find slug excrement sexy.
And if the sight of a strap would render your outfit utterly ridiculous, and the heft of your bosom makes breasticular support an absolute necessity, then here’s a thought: maybe this outfit isn’t for you. Maybe you should leave the backless numbers to your more daintily-endowed peers and accept that some designs suit some body types better than others. Because it doesn’t matter how gorgeous that dress is from the front, it’s being soundly undermined by the tacky-looking polyethylene fighting for my visual attention whenever you turn around.
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