I was walking through Larchmont village today, a strip of upmarket boutiques, yoga studios and cafes when I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a conversation between two little girls in front of me.

Nine year old #1

I could be a model.

Nine year old #2

No you couldn’t, your hair’s a mess.

Nine year old #1

Oh yeah…Well we could get perfect hair

and be perfect models…

Nine year old #2

…And then we could be in the cool group!

My heart sank.

I walked back to my car, got inside and broke down. Huge tears of anger, heartbreak and disgust fell down my dress. I wanted to stop them, I wanted to pick them up hold them, rescue them from the painful path to perfection.

Perfection! That totally unattainable state of non-being. I hate the word! It was never meant for us, for humans for little girls. I wanted to free them now, now before their innocent little wish for pretty hair turned into the full blown monster that would forever ride on their thoughts whispering in their ears making it impossible to be happy.

I was angry, angry at it all, the injustice, the hurt, but mostly the fact that someone hadn’t rescued me. I wondered what my life could have been like without this constant obsession with perfection? What did I not see? What did I not feel, not learn? Who did I miss?

I felt like a 25 year old child who hadn’t lived a day in her life.

A real day, a free day, without needing to look a certain way, without working to become ‘better’, thinner, prettier.

A day without make-up was a day of being invisible.

Always covering my ‘flaws’ in layers of powder, pretty fabrics, shiny things, pink lips and lies. I can hide it all and do it well, very well, I’m one of the best, I think you’d agree but I can’t let it take the lives of others. That’s why I send this message to all Mothers.

Save your daughters now. Teach them truth, love and acceptance. Acceptance of themselves, and of others. Scold them not when they swear, sit cross-legged or have their elbows on the table but when they use words like, ‘flaws’ and ‘perfection’. Never hand them secrets to keep, only wisdom to hold and to pass on. Tell them what they can gain from knowledge, humor, integrity and love. Show them real women, strong women who lead with their minds and hearts. Please let them be, as they are. Show them the emptiness of aesthetics. Lead with unconditional love, the only way to exist.

Truth is beauty. Imperfection is the only reality. Remember if you judge others or yourself, your children will do the same. Show them why they feel these pressures from society, the media, men and other woman, bring it into the light, talk about it and take the burden off their tiny shoulders before it crushes them to death.

Thank you,

Kit Willesee

To observe the reactions and changing relations of customers and people around me as I increase my bra size by one cup each day.

Equipment:

To create the full C cup effect I combined a padded, black, push up bra by Elle Macpherson and two silicon filled inserts also known as ‘Chicken fillets.’

Procedure:

By placing the fillets into the bra along with my real non-silicon breasts I am able to create a very realistic ample bosom. I kept the C Cups in for three shifts in order to truly notice the changes in reactions.

Safety/risks:

The risks that go along with packing your bra are numerous, especially at a restaurant. Luckily I had no issues with strange bulges around my stomach area or sachets of silicon ending up on the floor or on someones plate but I do imagine many a girl on a many cocktail-ed night has gone home with a gentleman (Or not) and grown forgetful of her fillings.

If she cannot make an appropriate exit from the room or to her purse in order to deposit the paddings this will result in one very confused male or the use of the skillful but very delicate operation I like to call ‘The snatch and slap.’

This requires partial or full darkness, a distracted male and a sleight of hand.

1: The female must be sure that the males head is turned away from her.

2: She then reaches down her top with the speed of a gazelle and grabs hold of the fillets tightly. Be careful those suckers get slippery!

3: She then tosses them to the ground.

4: At that exact moment she must make a sound of her choosing (moan, sneeze, cough, mooing etc) to disguise the loud ‘slap’ from the floppy fillet hitting the ground.

5: After she, he or both are satisfied she simply collects them from the floor before he becomes conscious of her deceit.

(Fourth step is unnecessary for a carpeted room.)

Results:

This time with my C cups I did notice a few differences.

In some instances I felt that the type of men who would normally flirt and joke around with me became quieter and slightly more intimidated. There was a nervous energy in a lot of the interactions. Awkward silences and uncomfortable smiles. The attempts at getting my number greatly decreased, especially from those that society might call the undesirables and even from the geeks and or misfits.  

I encountered one elderly man who stared directly at my chest as though he was sizing up a large pastrami sandwich he was excited to bite into when his wife wasn’t looking.

There were numerous interactions involving females dining with their significant others who gave me very cold, territorial stares throughout our exchanges.

Tips were the same if not slightly better.

Discussion:

I would like to hear a mans feelings on this subject as I don’t know what it was like for them but it felt that without the larger breasts I may seem easier to manage. Like taking a smaller bite or as though my stock rose with my larger lady lumps. Am I more attainable as a small breasted wonder?

As for the women, that was the most noticeable difference. What was interesting was that the women that I felt the most animosity from were women that were similar to me in type, style, and vibe but with smaller breast than they thought I had.

I have never felt that so strongly before in this environment. My uniform is a plain black T-shirt, this has nothing to do with cleavage because that is a whole different story. These woman were reacting only from the shapes under my shirt as though their inner lioness could sense the threat. These were primal instincts rising up. ‘She can offer a more fertile womb and milk for many children, ATTACK!!!’

I felt it and it was scary. I now know how men feel when they make the wrong comment or forget an anniversary. Sheesh!

As for the tips, I would only be able to tell if the increase was from my increase or just a busy restaurant if I were to graph my tips over a long period of time and I am not that dedicated nor do I have the urge to find out that information.

Conclusion:

Overall I am really disliking the reactions I am getting with these faux boobs and I haven’t even brought out the ‘Big Guns’ yet. Not to mention that I feel very aware of them like a giant spaghetti stain on my shirt all the time. I do feel more womanly but I don’t think I like it at all.

I often judge a woman who decides to show off her breasts and I know I shouldn’t but I do and now I am realizing that society does too.

Wish me luck as I upgrade to the finale stage of the experiment.

The D Cup! Dun dun duuuun!

(I’m scared.)

As soon as my brain is back up and running I will try my chest to bring you the results.

Look! It’s getting better already!

Sit tight kids…

Aim:

To observe the reactions and changing relations between me and my customers and coworkers as I increase my bra size by one cup each day.

Equipment:

The first bra will be a slightly padded, B-cup bra by Victoria’s Secret: Robins egg blue.

Procedure:

This is a bra that I often wear, it’s not enough for anyone at work to notice a difference so I rolled my shoulders back in a way that feels unnatural in order to place more focus on my chest. This is something I have seen woman doing and it is very effective.

Safety/risks:

Luckily there is no risk with this bra but it wasn’t always that way.

When I was 13 and waiting very patiently for puberty to gift me with something to separate me from the boys, I wasn’t allowed to buy padded bras so I would stuff mine.

Tissues were too lumpy and would always float up to my collar so by the end of the day I would have a very dry nose and a very flat chest.

Two bras were just too uncomfortable and anything involving tape was too sticky so I was ready to give up until one day I found something in my mothers closet. They were perfect!

So with my newly formed womanhood in my sweater I proudly stomped off to school. Feeling extra confident I decided to chat with a boy I had a crush on in the middle of the playground. The whole grade was watching of course. He made stupid boy jokes and I dramatically doubled over in laughter. As I stood up I noticed the boy staring at something on the ground.

One beige shoulder pad lay between us.

My face glowed bright red as I tried to pretend it hadn’t jumped from my now lop-sided chest. To make matters worse, one of my friends, who had been blessed with breasts (and a mustache) in kindergarten decided to grab my mothers shoulder pad and yell to the gathering crowd that I had stuffed my bra.

Many tears followed.

Results:

Nothing major to report.

Discussion:

Because the change was only slight and it was a slow Tuesday night there wasn’t much to observe in terms of reactions. I did get a lot of people commenting on how ‘perky’ I was today. I guess when you pair a big smile, pigtails and the stance of a two year old pageant kid, you get ‘Perky’.

Conclusion:

Tonight should be slightly more interesting with a busier restaurant and a bustier waitress.

Wish me luck kids!

Yes people I am talking about my tits.

The other day an idea came to mind, an idea of the experimental kind.

What of a woman who has them both? Wit and charm and large chestal growth?

That’s how it started, not with a silly poem but with a thought, the way most good things start.

I, like many other world famous actors enjoy waiting tables from time to time and I would call myself a very good waitress.

I crack jokes, I write fun notes, I compliment your tastes, make you feel welcome and I will admit that when it comes to tips I have been known to use my charms on customers of the male persuasion.

Hey! A girls gotta eat!

I’ve collected many phone numbers, there have been proposals of marriage, stalkers, regulars who stare and the tips are always steady when it comes down to a man and his credit card.

I suppose when you have a girl in non-descriptive clothing, laughing at your jokes and being incredibly sweet it makes it very easy for a guy to picture you as his girl. You’re approachable, you seem interested and you’re within his reach.

But what would happen if I wasn’t the breastless wonder you know and love? Would the reactions be the same if I increased the size of my bra? Would the tips increase as my tits increased? Would I be more threatening or less approachable? How would women and children react? Would I be treated better? Worse? Or just differently?

I had to find out.

So starting tonight I will embark on a social experiment to measure human reactions to my breasts. We are lucky to live in a time where there are bras of all types shapes and sizes filled with all sorts of crazy stuff to perk you up and fill you out to any cup size, I happen to own all of them.

The experiment begins tonight! I will promptly be reporting back tomorrow morning with the results.

Stay tuned folks!

The rains had soaked my shoes and broken my only umbrella but none of that mattered when I touched the perfect white blooms that covered the fences and made the air smell of my childhood.

When I was 12 years old living in Perth, my fathers home town. I remember one spring day in our back yard. My father was on the deck smoking a cigar, which he only did very rarely and it always meant it was a good day, he was relaxed and everything was right in our world. The smell of a cigar still puts me at ease.

I went over and sat next to him. He reached behind his head and picked a tiny sprig of Jasmine from the lattice, put it to my nose and told me it was called Jasmine. He said that it was his favorite smell in the whole world. He then pressed it to his own nose and I watched as it took him somewhere, probably his own childhood.

To me the scent was only sweet and pleasant, it brought back no memories fond or otherwise, it was just a scent at the time.

Now as I sit in my bedroom in California looking at the Jasmine that I brought home and placed in a champagne glass on top of my dresser, the smell that fills my room reminds me of my childhood, my father, and a place with a similar climate, I suppose.

I don’t remember much about my childhood, yet there are certain moments, especially with my Father that will always be with me. I guess when you love someone so much those small moments are not small at all.

Just like those tiny, white, Jasmine flowers with a scent that can fill a whole town.

(I wrote this about my Father when I first moved to LA and was living on Carlton Way in Hollywood, today it is raining and it made me homesick)