It’s spring 2022. Running late for the school pickup is stressful at the best of times, let alone when you’re not wearing a bra. I knew I could make it if I ran, but while I’m petite, I wear a D cup, so jogging along a main road mid-afternoon involved pinning my forearms to my chest like a T rex as if this was somehow less ridiculous than clutching my boobs. Everyone is looking at me, I thought. Everyone is looking at me and they know I’m not wearing a bra.
Of course nobody noticed or cared whether I was wearing one, yet I continued to walk with my arms folded against my chest. Lockdown may have long lifted but my lockdown habits – which began with forgoing smart clothes, then tights and eventually, inevitably, underwired bras – persist.
