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*Disclaimer: A representative from Wonderbra has contacted Women24 to let us know that Wonderbra does not own the rights to National Cleavage Day.
This April marks the 10th anniversary of the, now established, National Cleavage Day in South Africa. Like other meaningless occasions – Valentine’s Day, Christmas, proposing with a diamond ring – National Cleavage Day was started by a company to get free advertising and make more money by highlighting our insecurities. It’s a bullshit holiday, obviously, but it’s gained a bit of momentum since started by a bra company that shall not be named in 2002, and I think it’s time we take a closer look at the...*ahem*...points.
Can't believe this bitch took a double scoop of ice-cream at the buffet.
The brand manager for Wonderbra claims that National Cleavage Day was intended to “solemnise women's independence and power in all facets of life, from their careers to their relationships to their own destiny”.
Oh, really.
I’d never actually heard anyone normal use the word ‘solemnise’ in a sentence, so I looked it up to be sure:
solemnise – verb:
1. observe or perform with dignity or gravity; 2. to perform or mark with formal ceremonies
Right. So, a day in which millions of women across South Africa are encouraged to hoist up the twins and display them for the viewing pleasure of anyone with an interest (mostly men) is actually intended to be the dignified ceremonial marker of our independence as a species.
Wonderbra's plan for female domination can effectively be summarized as "show 'em your tits, love!" How does that work, exactly? Unless my objective is to individually nurse the starving children of Africa, how are ladylumps supposed to empower me in my career, my relationships or my “destiny”? (Also, seriously, mydestiny? Are the chicks at Wonderbra spending the working week reading their horoscopes and re-enacting the plot of Twilight with Barbies?) Anyway, I suspect that if stuffing two squishy spheres of fatty tissue into rhinestone-studded miniature catapults was a legitimate way to get ahead in the world, we’d see a lot more men with awkward walks.
The Wonderbra PR lady says: "It is a day for women to realise that their cleavage is something unique and that they should be proud of it."
I know what you’re thinking: “Cleavage is unique? Compared to what?” But actually, she’s right – cleavage isunique. Not like the Star-nosed Mole is unique. Or in the way that guy from Aphex Twin who can taste colors is unique. But, given that there are roughly seven billion boobs on the planet right now, most of which can exist quite happily without being strapped in to some kind of flesh-launching device, cleavage is unique because it is the exception. Not-cleavage is the natural state of almost all boobs and wearing bras made for the display of boobs is an arbitrary social rule and, in itself, quite unnecessary.
And that’s not just for ladies sporting the adorable, tiny cupcake-boobs. A quick look down my own bra-less front (I thought I'd get into the spirit of things) has indicated that, while sporting a pair of 34Cs, I do not have any cleavage. That’s because cleavage is not a natural thing. Cleavage must be created, skin sculpted, bosoms buttressed against gravity. Cleavage can really only be attained with the help of a push-up bra, a scalpel or a pair of warm, willing hands. (Luckily, if you are in need of some instant Himalayas where you have only anthills or the gentle topography of pastoral Ireland, Wonderbra makes just the thing...)
Apparently Wonderbra is giving “women a chance to be beautiful and glow in the furtive, yet appreciative, glances their cleavage evokes from men”. Gosh, thanks Wonderbra. Because, you know, I only ever feel beautiful when some slimeball is drooling on my neck. Not shying away from wild contradiction, Wonderbra also claims that, in addition to "furtive glances", they’re giving men “a legitimate reason to stare at boobs” (like they needed one).
Furtive glances: you're doing 'em wrong, Pops.
Actually, by helping us celebrate our cleavage, Wonderbra is just drawing attention to the fact that, in reality, none of us have boobs like Scarlett Johansen holding a tea tray. This is not a day designed to make you observe or perform anything with dignity or gravity (especially not gravity, god forbid anything go south of its own free will). Rather it aims to make you feel like your boobs are not the boobs that dreams are made of, which in turn makes you spend all your money on impractical, itchy-lace boulder-holders.
Honestly, I’m more inclined to celebrate the accomplishments I have wrought through hard work: education, healthy relationships, that time I got eight consecutive headshots in Unreal Tournament and the voice said I was "godlike", and about a million other things that I can do with varying levels of competency that are in no way a product of the physical characteristics I inherited.
“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun”, I hear you say.
Sure, I like fun. God knows I love boobs. What the fuck could be better than fun with boobs? Fun + boob + other boob - that’s like the Golden Triangle of fun.
In the spirit of fun I am going to suggest that, instead of celebrating National Cleavage Day, let us celebrate National Freeboob Day.
If the point of National Cleavage Day is to impress men (which it is), I can guarantee you, men prefer the girls to be presented au naturel.
Venn diagrams are Science's doodles.
And I know you do too. Few things compare to the profound joy of removing your bra at the end of the day. There have been evenings in which, after removing a particularly torturous bra, I have actually heard angels sing Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus.
This April, reclaim your boobs. Set them free. Let them be the bouncing, jiggly, cotton-poking, sweater-gnomes that nature intended them to be. Let them take a peek at the world through the sheer fabric of a white vest. Feel the joyful wobble of their peaks, unrestrained by the punishing clench of elasticized nylon and three inches of padding. Cup them, grope them and fondle them in public spaces. Tell strangers in elevators how much you love them and, if they seem nice, offer them a glimpse.
Your breasts are magfuckingnificent, just the way they are. And so are you.
I will be going braless on National Cleavage Day. And I hope to see your unfettered tatas in a frozen foods isle near me.
This was taken off St Jezebel's blog.
Follow women24 on Twitter.
This April marks the 10th anniversary of the, now established, National Cleavage Day in South Africa. Like other meaningless occasions – Valentine’s Day, Christmas, proposing with a diamond ring – National Cleavage Day was started by a company to get free advertising and make more money by highlighting our insecurities. It’s a bullshit holiday, obviously, but it’s gained a bit of momentum since started by a bra company that shall not be named in 2002, and I think it’s time we take a closer look at the...*ahem*...points.
Can't believe this bitch took a double scoop of ice-cream at the buffet.
The brand manager for Wonderbra claims that National Cleavage Day was intended to “solemnise women's independence and power in all facets of life, from their careers to their relationships to their own destiny”.
Oh, really.
I’d never actually heard anyone normal use the word ‘solemnise’ in a sentence, so I looked it up to be sure:
solemnise – verb:
1. observe or perform with dignity or gravity; 2. to perform or mark with formal ceremonies
Right. So, a day in which millions of women across South Africa are encouraged to hoist up the twins and display them for the viewing pleasure of anyone with an interest (mostly men) is actually intended to be the dignified ceremonial marker of our independence as a species.
Wonderbra's plan for female domination can effectively be summarized as "show 'em your tits, love!" How does that work, exactly? Unless my objective is to individually nurse the starving children of Africa, how are ladylumps supposed to empower me in my career, my relationships or my “destiny”? (Also, seriously, mydestiny? Are the chicks at Wonderbra spending the working week reading their horoscopes and re-enacting the plot of Twilight with Barbies?) Anyway, I suspect that if stuffing two squishy spheres of fatty tissue into rhinestone-studded miniature catapults was a legitimate way to get ahead in the world, we’d see a lot more men with awkward walks.
The Wonderbra PR lady says: "It is a day for women to realise that their cleavage is something unique and that they should be proud of it."
I know what you’re thinking: “Cleavage is unique? Compared to what?” But actually, she’s right – cleavage isunique. Not like the Star-nosed Mole is unique. Or in the way that guy from Aphex Twin who can taste colors is unique. But, given that there are roughly seven billion boobs on the planet right now, most of which can exist quite happily without being strapped in to some kind of flesh-launching device, cleavage is unique because it is the exception. Not-cleavage is the natural state of almost all boobs and wearing bras made for the display of boobs is an arbitrary social rule and, in itself, quite unnecessary.
And that’s not just for ladies sporting the adorable, tiny cupcake-boobs. A quick look down my own bra-less front (I thought I'd get into the spirit of things) has indicated that, while sporting a pair of 34Cs, I do not have any cleavage. That’s because cleavage is not a natural thing. Cleavage must be created, skin sculpted, bosoms buttressed against gravity. Cleavage can really only be attained with the help of a push-up bra, a scalpel or a pair of warm, willing hands. (Luckily, if you are in need of some instant Himalayas where you have only anthills or the gentle topography of pastoral Ireland, Wonderbra makes just the thing...)
Apparently Wonderbra is giving “women a chance to be beautiful and glow in the furtive, yet appreciative, glances their cleavage evokes from men”. Gosh, thanks Wonderbra. Because, you know, I only ever feel beautiful when some slimeball is drooling on my neck. Not shying away from wild contradiction, Wonderbra also claims that, in addition to "furtive glances", they’re giving men “a legitimate reason to stare at boobs” (like they needed one).
Furtive glances: you're doing 'em wrong, Pops.
Actually, by helping us celebrate our cleavage, Wonderbra is just drawing attention to the fact that, in reality, none of us have boobs like Scarlett Johansen holding a tea tray. This is not a day designed to make you observe or perform anything with dignity or gravity (especially not gravity, god forbid anything go south of its own free will). Rather it aims to make you feel like your boobs are not the boobs that dreams are made of, which in turn makes you spend all your money on impractical, itchy-lace boulder-holders.
Honestly, I’m more inclined to celebrate the accomplishments I have wrought through hard work: education, healthy relationships, that time I got eight consecutive headshots in Unreal Tournament and the voice said I was "godlike", and about a million other things that I can do with varying levels of competency that are in no way a product of the physical characteristics I inherited.
“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun”, I hear you say.
Sure, I like fun. God knows I love boobs. What the fuck could be better than fun with boobs? Fun + boob + other boob - that’s like the Golden Triangle of fun.
In the spirit of fun I am going to suggest that, instead of celebrating National Cleavage Day, let us celebrate National Freeboob Day.
If the point of National Cleavage Day is to impress men (which it is), I can guarantee you, men prefer the girls to be presented au naturel.
Venn diagrams are Science's doodles.
And I know you do too. Few things compare to the profound joy of removing your bra at the end of the day. There have been evenings in which, after removing a particularly torturous bra, I have actually heard angels sing Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus.
This April, reclaim your boobs. Set them free. Let them be the bouncing, jiggly, cotton-poking, sweater-gnomes that nature intended them to be. Let them take a peek at the world through the sheer fabric of a white vest. Feel the joyful wobble of their peaks, unrestrained by the punishing clench of elasticized nylon and three inches of padding. Cup them, grope them and fondle them in public spaces. Tell strangers in elevators how much you love them and, if they seem nice, offer them a glimpse.
Your breasts are magfuckingnificent, just the way they are. And so are you.
I will be going braless on National Cleavage Day. And I hope to see your unfettered tatas in a frozen foods isle near me.
This was taken off St Jezebel's blog.
Follow women24 on Twitter.
