The Bra Hero

I am no bra specialist, but I did play one for a few weeks when we first moved down to Austin.

I had always wanted to work for VS. I have purchased all of my undies from there since I was about 16. I was following in the footsteps of some of my older cousins. Ten years later, I found folding those same undies was surprisingly meditative.

I often looked up at the 12-foot tall poster of the models in underwear and wondered what they would think if they knew my bra was held together with electric tape.

A store manager once asked us, “What’s the first thing people say to you when they find out you work for Victoria Secret?”

She was thinking we would say people are always impressed. But the truth was, women always asked about my discount (20%) and the guys just stared. The ones who know me really well ask me if I touch boobs all day (no). Once that’s out of the bag, people feel open to asking question after question.

The women always want to know how to measure others. I usually learn new skills quickly, but with no training I had no idea how to measure. I was shown maybe twice… and then thrown in the fitting rooms to measure women.

The measurements never came out right, so I would just guess. Then I’d get the bra for a woman and if I was right, bingo. No harm, no foul. But if I was wrong, I would soothe their fears, fetch another bra and keep troubleshooting until we found the right one.

This type of customer service led to women asking for me by name. Bra shopping is an awkward experience, so I tried to make it fun and let them know I was there for them.

What’s more awkward than bra shopping are the men who don’t need any help, and meticulously go through every panty drawer looking for the perfect one. Imagine the internal dialogue going through his head and he crotches low, examining each pair.

Or the guys who have to make it clear they are buying for their GIRL FRIEND, not themselves…

Or the guy who looked at me hard and said, “Yeah, she’s about your size.” He looked like his buddies at the construction site across the street had bet him to come inside the store and buy a lacy number for his ‘girl friend.’

Or the men who buzz around the store with their girl friends shyly following behind. “He’s buying something special for me,” the women would explain.

Or the woman who came in asking my opinion on big breasts. She has small ones, but she was about to get breast implants. What was I supposed to say? It didn’t matter because she plowed through my stumbling answer to keep talking about how hot she was going to look.

Or the woman who NEEDED my opinion of how she looked in a see-through lingerie piece two sizes too small for her. “Hot” was all I could think to say. “You think so?” said asked, twirling in different directions to get a better look at herself. When you are 6′, 120 pounds, wearing stilettos, fake tan, fake boobs, fake lips, gorgeous long flowing hair… it pretty much doesn’t matter what you wear.

Or the tiny woman obsessed with finding the XLs because she felt fat.

It felt good knowing I was helping other women. And I was a little sad to leave because it was interesting interacting with other women and helping them feel good about such a sensitive area. I’m not a hero; just a woman who understands.