It’s December 30th, 2012. I have a vintage Chanel hanging in my closet that’s never been worn by me, which I was told was custom-made for a certain sex goddess celebrity. A Peppermint Lounge theme party on New Year’s Eve is the perfect occasion to debut my killer dress, but there’s one problem: my boobs are way too small to fill it out.
On my own, I get creative. I try different padded bras, double-sided tape, and even socks. But alas, the bust section of this dress seems to call for something cone-shaped, and even with extra stuffing, nothing seems to work.
I call my girlfriend who graduated from Parsons and now designs for Calvin Klein Collection. She tells me I can try walking around the fashion district for various things to stuff with, but it’s hit or miss as to what I might find. At last resort, she advises to take the inserts out of my padded bras and hand stitch a few to the inside of the dress. Great advice, except I’m not a pro at sewing like she is, and I don’t want to accidentally mess up the dress nor alter its almighty iconic integrity in any way. Instead, I try her suggestion with double-sided tape, then walk into the living room to strut my stuff for Mr. M. He shakes his head.
“I love that dress on you. It fits you perfectly in every way, but the breasts still don’t look quite right.”
I know he loves my little breasts, and more importantly, I love and accept my little breasts. I actually prefer having them to large ones, because at a size 0, I wouldn’t be able to wear haute couture as easily otherwise. But I’m a perfectionist, and I’m not going to the biggest party of the new year without being divine. All the stores are closed, so I resolve to spending the day of New Year’s Eve dress shopping.
Nothing like waiting until the last-minute to search for impeccable perfection. Why do I suddenly feel like a 55-year-old woman whose biological clock is about to blow? At Saks, I find a few options—an Alexander Wang, a Jason Wu, a Burberry, and three Herve Legers to be in the final running. Mr. M. patiently sits outside the dressing room as I come out one by one to model the finalists. He shakes his head no at all of them.
“You should wear a dress as unique as you are, and these dresses are all so boring and plain compared to the one you have.”
I smile. He encourages me to stop looking for dresses and start using my brain. With five hours left until showtime, it’s time to get creative. Then thankfully, I remember all the fabulous drag queens in my life. If those queens can give themselves tits, then damn it, I can too! I call my best drag queen friend who tells me what to do.
We jump in a taxi to Kmart. Yes, I said Kmart! I rush down the escalators to the hardware section where I grab a roll of black gorilla tape, then on to the toy section for a baby Nerf football. Back at home, I get ready. When my hair and make-up are done, it’s time for the tit taping. My right hand lifts up my left breast and my left hand lifts up my right breast. My sexy lover joyfully helps out as I instruct him to place the gorilla tape on the bottom of my areolas, directly under my nipples. He adds an extra strip just for extra reinforcement. I grab a bread knife and cut the baby Nerf football in half. Each half gets place underneath each breast in my bra, but it’s too big. Eventually, I cut the football down to the first seam on either side. The little tiny cone ends go back into my bra. Double sided tape is added to adhere my bra to the top of my dress and … VOILÀ! I am a happy girl wearing the dress I couldn’t bear to not wear.
Happy New Year!