My Boobs Are Fake And That's OK!

By: Sophie Centazzo

Having giant knockers is every middle schoolers dream, right? ABSOLUTELY NOT!! Take it from me, who had D cups by age 12 and wanted so badly to rip them off my chest. I was a tomboy (no surprise there) and played lots of sports like soccer and softball (the closet was glass, I swear). So, having these #mommymilkers hanging off of me wasn’t the best situation for this active kid. I lived by the double sports bra method and continued to as I kept playing sports. My boobs kept growing, to a 34G to be exact. YEESH! Freshman year of college is when I finally realized backs were hurting, clothes weren’t fitting, and titty chops needed to be made.

Let’s start from the beginning: after my mom gave birth to me, she had FUCKING “I” CUPS (yes, they go up that far. sorry mom, ily <3), so we know what side of the family my bonzoingas came from. When I was about seven, my mom got a breast reduction. I remember her coming home and having these tubes sticking out of her clothes and me wanting to throw up because I was so freaked out. Little did I know that I would be in that same boat 12 years later. It’s 2020; COVID hit, my fall quarter of freshman year was spent at home, and my back was on its last leg (spinal fracture from field hockey, again CLOSET = GLASS). Name a more perfect time to get your boobs chopped off! My surgery was set for November 30, which is now a national holiday known as the twin’s birthday. Shoutout to Dr. Fenner for giving me the most (surgically) perfect pair of boobs I’ve ever seen! Also, to Cigna health insurance for covering the surgery because it was considered a “medical necessity”! #youguysslayed ! Recovery was really rough for the first week, but after that I could basically do anything except lift my arms up past my shoulders. During that first week, however, the angel woman that is my mother had to do everything for me, and I mean EVERYTHING. Imagine (or don’t you pervs) a 19 year old girl getting bathed by her mother, while sitting on a Home Depot bucket in the shower. As shitty as recovery was, there were a few perks. My friends made me a boob shaped cake and brought me stuffed animals. My mom and I had a week-long sleepover and watched House Hunters every night until 1am. But, best of all, I got a whole new arsenal of bras! No more giant cupped monstrosities that literally would cut into my skin every time I’d wear them. Medically, I had to wear sports bras or bras without underwire for six months, so I didn’t slice my freshly sown boobie skin open. I can now count on my fingers how many times post surgery I’ve been forced to wear a regular bra (by that same angel woman, Jolie) because I’ve realized there’s no point of putting myself through the pains of femininity anymore (*💅🏳️‍🌈*).

In conclusion, breast reductions are magical. They literally cut off FOUR POUNDS of boob off my body! #weightlossqueen ! Even though the fear of one day ripping my fake nipples off lives in the back of my mind, the whole experience was definitely worth it. Maybe not the part about my mom having to wipe my ass for me, but other than that, totally worth it.