I’ve always had a contentious relationship with my body, and my chest size formed a large part of that.
From the awkward pre-teenage years hiding them under baggy clothing when they grew sooner than my peers, to university where people were watching The Girls of the Playboy Mansion, Geordie Shore, and low-cut tank tops with visible bras were everywhere. Then came the covering up upon entering the professional world: the shame of being gawked at, the desire to be taken seriously, and learning quickly which silhouettes drew the ‘wrong’ kind of attention. And finally, motherhood and breastfeeding — a beautiful ritual of nourishment and bonding with my baby, juxtaposed with the swelling, pain, and watching my much-loved wardrobe no longer fit the same way.
Pain is something I hadn’t really considered to be tied to my chest.
For years, I had migraines, neck pain, and back pain. I would take painkillers, have massages, and visit the osteopath frequently. But that was just life. Part of being a woman. I got on with it, like so many of us do. Then, late last year, I sat down with a close friend and commented on how amazing she was looking. She was sitting up straighter and wearing a style of top I had never seen her in before. “I got a reduction,” she confided. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. You should look into it.”
Me? By the age of 35, my breasts had grown to a 16F. Sure, I had always been larger-chested, but I’d grown used to rounding my shoulders, tailoring my wardrobe around minimising my shape, and wearing oversized everything. I hadn’t realised quite how much they had grown — and dropped — in the last few years.
But the thought weighed on my mind, just as my breasts weighed heavily on my chest. I had stopped exercising as much, I couldn’t jump on the trampoline with my daughter, and my wardrobe had slowly become more focused on what would fit me, rather than what I actually liked.
“What size would you like to be?” my surgeon asked tentatively during the consultation.
“How small can you make them?” I responded.
We spoke about my migraines and discomfort, and with assistance from my health insurance, alongside money from my savings, I was booked in. The surgery came and went fairly smoothly, and before I knew it, 1.28kg had both metaphorically and physically been lifted from my chest and I had gone from a F to a B cup.
The recovery pain was manageable, but what I didn’t account for was the mental adjustment that came with being smaller. I pride myself on body positivity, after years of disordered eating, binges, and diets. And here I was, once again feeling pleased with being in a smaller body. It felt… confusing.
On the one hand, I was happy to no longer be in pain, with my migraines subsiding significantly almost instantly. But on the other, I was looking in the mirror at a body that didn’t feel like my own. I could wear tightly buttoned shirts and go braless. My size was now stocked by most retailers. I can’t deny that I felt — and still do feel — a sense of relief.
But I also felt a sense of sadness. For those still in pain, and for those whose bodies are still not accommodated by a fashion industry that values petite figures above all else. There is privilege in being able to afford surgery, to have health insurance, to contribute extra money, and to take time off to heal. There is also privilege in being able to fit into off-the-rack sizes.
We need to do better, both within the fashion industry and more broadly when it comes to women’s health rights and access. There are so many silhouettes that look beautiful on larger-chested women — I will always love a draped V-neck — but they can’t wear them if the industry doesn’t make them in their size.
For now, I am in a new stage of body positivity journey and sharing my experience online. I’ll never forget what it was like not to be included, and so I will always share inclusive, fashion-forward styling tips and labels with my followers.
Like the many body changes I have already gone through as a woman, I have no doubt I will grow more comfortable and confident in my body as time goes on. But for now, I’ll take being able to jump on the trampoline again.
This article originally featured in the Winter ’26 issue of Fashion Quarterly.
Imagery: Supplied.
Words: Lauren Brodie.
