This is my braissance week. Here, read about my existential bra-fitting experience in Paris. Stay tuned for Thursday.
No one knows this, but I am Aphrodite, blooming from my economy seat (47F) on a flight from Paris to New York. Under my mangy long-sleeved top, I wear the most decadent bra. The lace is like a Lambeth cake, embroidered tiers riding the cusp of the cups, dotted with little pink and red florals and whispers of greens. It’s like the aristo-psychedelic gardens of Marie Antoinette splattered on my chest! A sweet confectionery spread across my nipples! Not to mention the soft pink straps peekabooing out. I have never felt more like a woman.
The booty for my breasts is from
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