- Jenny Stallard admits she hates having big boobs
- They attract unwelcome attention
- 'Thanks to Holly Willoughby I'm considered fair game for ribard comments'
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Baggy black T-shirts, vice-like sports bras and a collection of thigh-high mini skirts to re-route male attention southwards.
I’ve tried everything to divert the opposite sex from staring at my rather ample chest. But no matter what I attempt, I’ve always been known as Jenny With The Big Boobs.
That’s the thing about having a 34F bust: it’s the first thing people see. So, almost inevitably, it becomes your defining characteristic.
Curvy curse: Jenny Stallard hates people staring at her cleavage
But more often than not the dubious attention attracted by my bangers/ puppies/fun bags — oh yes, I’ve heard all the ‘hilarious’ euphemisms — is entirely unwelcome.
Please don’t think me po-faced or ‘ungrateful’ (as some of my more petite friends have labelled me), but the lascivious stares and lewd comments seem to be on the rise — even in this supposedly politically correct age.
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ShareAnd I blame the likes of TV presenter Holly Willoughby — who is said to be a size 34DD — who recently declared: ‘I don’t mind people fixating on my cleavage.’
The more that Ms Willough-booby, as she’s apparently happy to be known, pouts and preens and pretends she’s fine with the fact her fame revolves around her mammary glands, the more people think it’s fine to gawp at the rest of us big-breasted girls.
Holly Willough-booby: The TV presenter recently declared, 'I don't mind people fixating on my cleavage'
Just the other day, I encountered a man in a bar who couldn’t peel his eyes away from my cleavage: ‘God! I mean wow! Seriously — wow!’
I wanted to shout: ‘I do have an entire body — not to mention a brain — you know!’ But, of course, I didn’t say anything.
Unlike any other part of your anatomy, when the joke’s about your heaving bosom, you’re simply supposed to laugh along.
Despite Holly’s declarations to the contrary, a sizeable bust quickly becomes the bane of your life.
Quite apart from the physical discomfort of lumbering around a 9lb bosom (yes, I once weighed them), I can’t go for a run without teenagers shouting ‘Bouncy, bouncy!’ and am yet to speak to a man who has been able to meet my gaze for any length of time.
'I'm sure there are many women who would imagine such attention boosts your confidence, but in reality it's uncomfortable'
All this has made me — like everyone else — utterly obsessed with my boobs.
If only they were smaller, I muse, I could for once look elegant in a dainty bikini.
It wasn’t until I was 14 that my breasts began to grow out of all proportion. Those early days of shopping for bras left mental scars, with me sobbing ‘I hate my boobs’ to my mum.
Two-inch-wide straps carved pink grooves into my shoulders and the cups struggled to contain my curves.
‘We all love you as you are,’ Mum would say. ‘Try not to worry.’
She meant well, but as a neat B-cup, how could she ever understand my trauma?
I’m 35, but when I was a teenager more generous sizes weren’t readily available. I was consigned to an old ladies’s lingerie store near where we lived in Reigate, Surrey, which only emphasised my freakishness.
I’d go home and prod my breasts in front of the mirror. They weren’t round and voluptuous: they were more teardrop-shaped and droopy.
Bane of my life: Jenny believes her 34F boobs mean she can never look elegant while she's had to endure taunts of 'bouncy, bouncy' when going for a run
Recently, I flicked through an old diary and was shocked to see that such was my paranoia back then that I’d drawn a diagram of everything I hated about what I called my ‘old lady boobs’. And this was before I’d had to contend with the bewildering reactions of the opposite sex.
It wasn’t until I moved from my girls’ school to a sixth form college at the age of 16 that I became painfully aware of the rubbernecking and widening eyes that my breasts elicited from hormonal young males.
That’s when I started wearing the baggy black T-shirts.
I’m sure there are many women who would imagine such attention boosts your confidence, but in reality it’s uncomfortable, humiliating and you just want to run away and hide. So distraught was I with my breasts in my late teens that I visited the doctor to inquire about a reduction.
My GP warned me such operations come with big risks and suggested that, in time, I might grow to love my breasts.
After his well-meaning words, I didn’t pursue the idea of a breast reduction, but I continued to torture myself with physical comparisons to my svelte best friend, Christine.
Size matters
The best-selling bra size is 34DD - that compares to 34B in 2010, according to Debenhams
Whenever we had sleep-overs, I’d watch how she slipped effortlessly into her pyjamas. When I got changed, my breasts swung from side to side in cumbersome and clumsy unison.
When I went to university in Hull, I found myself gravitating towards other busty girls.
My housemate’s cleavage was as eye-popping as mine. We endured vulgar taunts about our bosoms, but took comfort in the fact we were not alone.
I never dressed revealingly for dates when I was young and, even now, I refuse to display my cleavage when meeting potential suitors. I just want a man who will love me for me — and that includes my whole body and my brain.
Meanwhile, my nights out in bars and clubs continue to be dominated by vulgar comments about my chest.
As a woman with a larger-than-life personality, I tend to laugh off such comments. But there are times when I go home feeling genuinely upset.
Would these men say anything if I was flat-chested? Or big-bottomed? I don't think so.
Thanks to Holly Willoughby and her ilk, curvy women with big boobs are considered to be fair game for ribald comments from strangers.
As at this time of year, I’m dreading having to strip down to a bikini on holiday.
Unwelcome attention: Christina Hendricks' character in Mad Men flaunts her womanly curves but Jenny is not proud of hers
Girls with big busts tend to look like budding porn stars, even if they choose the classiest two-piece on the block (which will have to employ heavy scaffolding and cost at least £50). The extent to which my god-forsaken breasts put a dampener on everything is best summed up by a recent phone call.
It was my sister Pamela, 25, ringing to tell me she was engaged and she’d like me to be her matron of honor.
Of course, I congratulated her, but my very first question was: ‘Do I have to wear a strapless bridesmaid’s dress?’
Forget inquiries about the venue, the number of guests, how she was feeling — my fears about my figure clouded my reaction to her happy news.
I admit this makes me feel silly, childish and a bit sad. I do wish I could learn to accept my body.
Thankfully, Pamela is very laid-back and assured me that I could wear whatever made me feel most comfortable.
So I would say to Holly Willoughby, and all those women who revel in comments about their breasts, to think again and realise that not every big-busted girl is happy to be judged by her boobs alone.
I, for one, feel better having got that all off my chest.
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