Never being able to get flat enough
The NY Times is still normalizing breast-mutilation.
A recent Times article on chest binding prompted a discussion among readers about the practice, which some transgender and gender-nonconforming people use to compress their breasts and treat body dysphoria, as well as how we covered it.
I bet it did.
So the Times asked readers to report on their adventures in binding. They got more than 200 responses, mostly from very young people (of course – this wasn’t a fashion ten years ago).
I am 31 and have been wearing constrictive sports bras since I developed breasts in high school. I didn’t know about binders until well into my 20s. I wish I had. Without the availability of binders, many people like me spent years wearing Ace bandages around our chests. This practice was harmful and made it difficult to breathe. Now that binders are more widely available, I wear one most days.
I’m currently training to run the New York marathon for the second year in a row, and I’m starting graduate school at Columbia University in the fall. These are things that I would not have been able to do without a binder.
— R.J. Russell, 31
Eh? I wonder why Russell would not have been able to start grad school at Columbia without a binder.
I first had a desire to bind toward the end of middle school, when I came out as non-binary. Because of online articles that said binders would mutilate your body, my mother firmly decided against getting me one. It was only when I had my doctor and therapist assure her binding was safe that I was able to get my first binder, which drastically improved my self-image and mental health without any sacrifices to my physical health.
Binders tend to be used as a temporary solution to the problem of having breasts and cannot be worn at all times. During exercise they can restrict breathing, and back and chest pain can come from wearing them for more than about eight hours at a time. You should also never sleep with a binder on.
Erin Hurst, 17
So, binders are safe, but they cannot be worn at all times, during exercise they can restrict breathing, and back and chest pain can come from wearing them for more than about eight hours or to sleep in. How are we defining “safe” here?
I have been binding for four years, starting at age 16. I discovered binding through the internet as I began following more transgender individuals and navigating my own gender identity.
When I slipped on my first binder, well, it didn’t slip on. Despite my small frame, I could not fit into a medium. I ended up returning it and ordering a size up. Even that was still extremely difficult to put on. You get used to it, though. The tightness is a double-edged sword — sometimes you feel like you’re being suffocated, but at other times a binder feels like a close hug.
The longer I used binding, the more I could feel my body deteriorating. The physical pain got worse but so did the emotional. Slowly I began living a life where I couldn’t not bind. The initial euphoria of flatness turned into never being able to get flat enough. My body aches every day, I no longer have the lung capacity I once had, and my ribs have inverted. I fear breaking one when I sneeze. I am getting surgery this year and it can’t come soon enough.
— Caleb B. Sanders, 20
This must all be the fault of TERFs, right?
This statement right here is so wrong. Breasts are a biological reality, not a ‘problem’. Just like having normal sized feet is not a problem that needs to be ‘solved’ by foot binding.
Well, in all fairness I have to admit I can understand finding developed breasts as something like an alien imposition. I think I sort of saw mine that way in the early phase of puberty. They are different from other bits of the body, starting with the fact that you don’t even know you have them until age 12 or 13 or whatever it may be. They can interfere with athletic activities, they can draw unwanted attention, etc.
Oh, yes, I know all about that. As someone with large breasts, I can sympathize with people who don’t want to run, or do other activities.
It’s weird, though. I have had a number of friends with small breasts who are envious of the larger ones. A friend of mine years ago was in an elevator with me, and it stopped moving. She jumped up and down thinking that would get it moving, and her breasts actually bounced. She was thrilled. I was like, not something I like to have happen.
Shorter version: No matter what we do, no matter what our size, women are brought up to be unhappy with our bodies.
In my mother’s girlhood, there was still a shared memory of fashionable binding in the 20s. The straight-line ‘flapper’ look was pursued by deliberate constriction. This is the same period that had seen the end of obligatory corseting; but somehow, the desire to erase femaleness just burst forth in another zone.
Oh, that’s interesting. I don’t think I knew that before…but of course the look was definitely very straight line. I think the flapper aesthetic was called “boyish” but I can’t swear to it.
The flapper aesthetic was pretty much mirroring the art deco fashion of the time, all straight lines and sharp angles. Look at any art deco figurine and you’ll see a slender, almost pre-pubescent waif; natural curves and bumps belonged to art nouveau.
See also: Bauhaus.
In 1934, the designer Raymond Loewy drew a set of “evolution charts” to show his opinion of where style was going. I remember the charts from a book, and that helped me find them posted on a design blog here.
The chart for female “Dress & Figure” and “Bathing Suit” is in higher resolution here.
Excellent find. I love the last one under “bathing suit”!