Last weekend when I headed to a friend’s wedding, I thought about a lot of things. What I would need to pack. The weather. The chocolate hazelnut groom’s cake. But the last thing I expected to think about was my nipples.
What can I say? Life as a woman is often exhausting.
Ok. Let me back up.
For this wedding, I packed a backless dress because the previous two receptions I had been to were very warm. So, I figured I’d dress for the dancing portion of the evening.
If you’re going to wear something backless, you’ve got two options. 1) Go without a bra or 2) purchase sticky boobs.
If you aren’t familiar with sticky boobs, let me educate you on the various pains of being a woman.
Sticky boobs is basically a backless bra that sticks to your titties so you have a little shaping and you don’t have to worry about the nips getting cold and poking through your outfit.
There are two types of sticky boobs. The traditional sticky boobs resembles chicken cutlets. I opted for the second type of sticky boobs, the ones that look more like a bra and that covers most of your boobs while wrapping around the sides of your rib cage to give you that secure feeling.
I had purchased sticky boobs like this for a previous wedding. They worked great. They didn’t move the whole night and it was still sticky after I took it off. The problem was that they were too sticky and I didn’t know how to store them. My sister said she covers hers in saran wrap, so I did the same. When I tried to take the saran wrap off, it was useless. The sticky boobs had fused to the saran wrap and I had to buy another pair of sticky boobs.
So. I brought a new backless dress to my friend’s wedding. It was super cheap on Amazon and I was psyched about it. I bought a new pair of sticky boobs but I didn’t try them on before the wedding since my last ones worked great and I didn’t want the adhesive to become less sticky.
That was a mistake.
I went into our hotel bathroom and stuck those sticky boobs to my chest. Immediately it started to come off. Ok. Whatever. They just aren’t as good as the last pair I had. It’s fine. I’ll just be adjusting it every five minutes.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
I did a little turn in the mirror, checking all my bits and pieces. My sticky boobs peeked out of the side of my dress. Even if these fuckers managed to stay stuck to my boobs the whole night, everyone would see the bra.
You know that moment when you’re in a dressing room and you’re trying to get off a dress but it’s stuck and your arms are in the air and you’re pretty sure you’re going to be stuck like that forever and you almost panic and you think about how embarrassing it would be if you needed the fitting room attendant to help you out of this dress but you tell yourself to breathe because you’ll probably be able to naw your arm off before needing to resort to asking for help?
Yeah. That’s kind of how I felt when I realized that these sticky boobs weren’t going to work.
I tried changing the placement of the sticky boobs to hide it. I made my friend try to attach clothing tape so the fabric might hide the sticky boobs.
It didn’t work.
My friend looked at me. She told me I should just go braless. I knew she was right, but I really didn’t want to.
I’m not a girl that goes braless. Just last year I finally understood that I didn’t have to wear underwire in my bras. Last year.
I feel empowered just with my wireless bras, my bralettes, my sports bras. Wearing a bra means I don’t have to think about my boobs, and to me, that feels like empowerment.
I’m not the girl who rocks the no bra look because I feel exposed and I’m constantly worrying about having a Rachel moment from Friends where we were all distracted by Jennifer Aniston’s nipples for the entirety of that show.
But my friend was right. I needed to go braless. I looked around for anything that could cover my nipples. At least if I had my nipples covered, I’d feel at ease.
Clothing tape? No. Too small. Blister patches? What the fuck, no. Why would you even consider that?
I had twenty minutes until we were going down for the shuttle to take us to the wedding. I looked at my friend. I strategized. “Ok. The Walgreens is a three minute drive. So both ways that’s six minutes. If I went to Walgreens, got pasties, and came back, I might have enough time before the shuttle leaves.”
My friend just looked at me for a moment. Then she said very nicely that I couldn’t make it. She was right.
I thought about contacting every woman I knew at this wedding and texting them: DO YOU HAVE TAPE? PASTIES? HELP. THIS IS A NIPPLE EMERGENCY.
I thought about texting the bride.
Okay. No I didn’t.
Okay. I did, but not seriously.
In a last-ditch effort, I went down to the front desk of the hotel and asked as normally as I could: “Do you have any scotch tape that I could borrow?”
She didn’t expect my question, but she produced a roll of scotch tape from behind the desk. I thanked her, probably a little too earnestly, and cut four strips.
I went back to our room, taped those nips, and felt as much at ease as I could. My sticky boobs failed me. But scotch tape really pulled through. That stuff held up the entire night and made me a little more confident.
But just a little confident because I went to a Catholic wedding and completely forgot that there’s church involved and I forgot that meant there was more of a dress code, because God. Apparently it’s frowned upon to show certain parts of your body in church like your entire back (although that Jesus guy is allowed to show off those rock hard abs…).
So, really, if I had thought about this before, I could have planned accordingly and brought a dress with a back and I could have worn a real bra and I would have avoided this whole mess.