A week without a bra. We have tested it and these are our conclusions

• I've tried on the new Zara girdle and these are my impressions

• Once and for all: this is your bra size

• Does the bra have its days numbered?

  The Rise of the NoBra Movement

I confess: I have grown.

under her sweater in a photo

has had on brains , I have decided

( and especially mine, if I don't get lost) and dedicate a few days to the

of going through life scattered and see what happens.

Of course, do not compare me with Belarra.

Because my handicap is much higher;

as much, minimum, as my bra size: a 90 C, ole.

If this information doesn't tell you anything, I'll tell you: except if you have an

-in which case your breasts are featherweight-, women usually support

although there are cases in which a single breast can weigh four kilos!

Come on, having

's 85 B ,

not even close.

A 90 C, which is mine, already weighs its own.

no bra for life

Well, nothing, we're done with the preliminaries, let's get to work (actually I should have said tits to work or hands to tits, but I don't know if the joke would be appreciated enough).

But first of all (tick-tock-tick-tock), a confession: it's not the first time I've gone without a bra through life.

For years I have practiced

swamps and other hydrographic basins of Spain.

I even took an

upriver in Vera de Cáceres with my

Now then: it is one thing to go on strike with untied breasts in the throat of Cuartos or in Playa d'en Bossa in Ibiza and quite another to go to work, to the supermarket or to a restaurant in Madrid without the mandatory immobilizing bowls and nipple censors.

Things are clear, since I started working I've been used to men looking at my tits when I see them face to face (of course, because I don't have eyes on my back. I don't even have breasts).

Although accustomed is not the word... because the truth is that you never get used to it, and in fact today I still find it uncomfortable.

The number of times

and then, urgently, the eyes!

And him (because it's always him) with a look first of surprise and then of guilt, like "oh, that got away from me."

Come on, like when you have an aunt who has a wart on her nose and comes to visit your house and your mother tells you: "Please, María, don't look at your aunt's wart", and you... well, that, Impossible, your eyes will inevitably go to the damn horrible bulge.

Well, the same, but on boobs.

Bosses, colleagues, delivery men, messengers, strangers... as if abducted by my breasts.

And that, wearing a bra.

Hunched over like a cat in Lombardy

The above serves to anticipate the first effect that my appearance has on the staff (of my company) on a good Monday, with a chaste sweatshirt (because we are not going to exaggerate the first day either) and with nothing underneath.

Because inevitably, the unwanted

against the fabric causes frizz, and no matter how thick the cotton of the sweatshirt is, the nipples are noticeable.

Outside and also inside.

How do I feel?

Well,

I know it seems incongruent, because I'm dressed, but the breasts are a very sensitive area of ​​the body that a) moves as soon as you move and not necessarily in solidarity with the trunk.

b) is used to being perfectly boxed in, immobilized and desensitized inside a prison made of more or less comfortable fabric, which isolates them from all sensory perception.

In short: that any 'trip' to the vending machine becomes an adventure.

If someone comes from the front, and aware that

I unconsciously adopt a hunched posture, like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel (as the Renaissance genius wrote in a letter to a friend, he did "hunched over like a cat in Lombardy") or as an introspective contemporary dancer, depending on your artistic sensibility.

This twisting has good and bad consequences.

On the one hand, I manage to keep my nipples from getting too irritated;

on the other, I contract my shoulders at the championship level.

This contracture has a side effect that is not too pleasant and that is to move me to the past, and not exactly to the best time of my life.

It turns out that I don't know about you, but I got one boob first (a lot) and the other later, which in the middle of adolescence you can imagine is a bad nightmare.

I still get a chill when I remember that bikini at fifty percent.

From the tops with three-dimensional asymmetry, from the concern that I had in case I would stay like this forever...

I confess: I have sinned

When the day ends and I get home, I confess, I put on my bra.

A little bit, before I go to sleep.

Because my chest hurts, what do you want me to tell you?

I share the enthusiasm of the braless apologists, of the #Nobra movement, but when you have a certain size, after 12 hours without it, IT HURTS.

Well, it hurts... at this point I still don't know what it is to hurt, I'll find out the next day.

I get up half asleep at a quarter to seven in the morning (that's a saying, because it's dark) and without thinking I open the bra drawer.

But I pause when I remember that I'm in the middle of filming my braless week.

"Are you going to go running without a bra?"

I wonder.

"Well, yeah," I reply.

I'm going to tell you how hard I was running without a bra: exactly 60 meters.

And not because the movement of my breasts causes havoc among passers-by, since there are no passers-by to wreak havoc.

But because of the horrible sensation that the up-down-up-down of my breasts produces in me.

Returning to immobility, I look on the Internet, lest my thing be psychological, and I find out that the

is a gland with

only

to the body by

and

(This is why breast forms after a mastectomy are placed under the pectoral muscle, not directly under the skin: they would last in place for five minutes.)

This causes the chest to move much more than other organs and when running it moves like crazy in any direction, which can cause

annoying or painful

or

I mean, it's not that the patriarchy has convinced me that my boobs are going to hurt if I run without a bra.

It's that they really hurt me.

A consolation.

To the supermarket with the nipples released

This day I decide to go one step further and go shopping (not to the office, I've had enough) wearing a long-sleeved top with nothing underneath.

It's not very tight, but it's clear that I'm going without a bra (it's just that it's impossible for me to go without a bra and not show it).

As I'm still a little sore from my very brief morning run (I hope I didn't break anything), and since walking fast also causes unwanted movements of my breasts, as well as nipple flutter, I move around the supermarket like a wraith, very slowly, sliding instead of stomping the ground, hoping not to disturb my body.

Between the dairy section and the industrial bakery section I come across an older man who, as I see, has gotten a boob in his eye.

He manages to get it out with great difficulty,

He looks into my eyes for a second as if worried and then he concentrates on the Bimbo bread.

I stay looking at the hillocks, now with my arms crossed over my chest in a most natural way.

Driving a vehicle is also not a highly recommended way of getting around if you go without a bra.

It's probably all smooth sailing on the highway

but if you live in a bumpy neighborhood like mine, you can be in for some painful surprises.

It's not up to the level of the trip I made to Portugal when I was eight months pregnant, in which I had to carry my belly permanently supported on a cushion to compensate for the vibration produced by a cobblestone road, but it's not negligible either.

An undeniable advantage: aesthetics

However.

If there is something good about going without a bra, whether you have a big or small chest, it is that you can wear wonderful front or back necklines without the tackiness that it entails -yes, because it is tacky, no matter how you wear it- that you can see your fasten.

It is true that there was a time when it took a lot.

But it's been more than 15 years since that,

come back to reality.

That of going with a back neckline up to the tailbone, hypersensual, and showing the back strap of your bra, sometimes even the label on your bra... oh, what a pain, by God!

I don't know which is worse, if that or if your bra is so

that you get sores... Something very common, which is not uncommon given that 9 out of 10 Spaniards do not know their bra size.

-type V-neckline top

to go out one night.

Although there is a trap here, because Jennifer usually wears those necklines with her breasts attached to her dress, that she does not move a bit of fabric or her breast, we do not know if she uses tape, adhesive tape or Blu Tack.

does use adhesive tape, as she already told us at the time of her in her private diary, come on, on Instagram.

Well, she told us about it and she showed it to us.

Nothing sexy, by the way, that

so hospitable, as much as it works.

I, however, leave my breasts to her free will under a blue V-neck top with which I go out with a friend.

And do you know what happens?

Well, nothing, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

I walk up and down the club with my breasts unrestrained and they go completely unnoticed.

Definitely, the 'problem' is not the breasts, it is the context.

This reminds me of a time, many many years ago, when I went to spend a day at the beach in Motril.

As a good beach

junkie , I got there with no bikini tops to throw on my trunk.

After traveling hundreds of meters of beach, filled to the brim with large families huddled under a canopy, without a place to spread out the towel... I went back to my house.

You have to know where you take off your bra, and where you put it on.

And if you want to defy customs, well, olé you, but you have to be in the mood.

Conclusion: bra yes or no above all for what your body dictates, but not only the body that is under the head.

There are many ways to feel uncomfortable.

If you are as comfortable in any context as Ione Belarra, smell your tits.

If not... long live the magic crusader from Playtex.

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