My ta-tas. My weapon. My crutch.

I love my boobs, knockers, rack, twins, tits, whatever, you choose to call them. These 34D’s of milk-giving, sex appealing, pairs of adipose may be my greatest asset besides my brain of course!

Wait, what? You can’t have a brain and a nice rack?!

Sure I can and I like many other girls out there know this.

I actually feel more advantageous over men—in certain, matters of course. I don’t believe that my sex appeal or lack thereof will get me whatever I want, whenever. But I understand that wearing the low-cut shirt will make my guy friends do whatever I want…sometimes. Am I blinded by these kind gestures because I happened to be wearing a tight shirt one cold morning and my friend happened to have noticed and bought my coffee? Perhaps.

Oh, great I can already read the comments explaining that the objectification of women and creating her as a sex object reverts long years of activism. Blah, blah, blah and that my thinking is only reinforcing ideologies that create women as sex symbols and Wolf’s argument of the beauty myth.

Do you heart that? It’s the snickering of feminists-minded girls commenting on how I’ve devalued women and commenting on what a narcissistic bitch I am. “Look at this girl! She thinks her experiences apply to every woman in the world!”

I knew what I was getting myself into when I was writing this post in the wee hours of the morning, but guess what? I didn’t want to regurgitate what I read and complacently agree with every word the authors were writing out about. I mostly wrote this post to get more attention. Am I a narcissist, attention grabbing bitch who only knows how to express herself through a mandatory blog post for fear of being seen as too honest and too opinionated?

Yes.

Can you note the low self-esteem emanating from every word I type?

Yes.

Really I wanted to do this to make people angry. Particularly, the girl populous in this women studies class. Do you even know if I am girl? For all you know I could be one of the few numbered boys in the class. Or am I? Oh, how anonymity has its advantages.

Valenti and Wolf have made many valid points about how the construction of beauty has debased years of feminist activism and the measures every woman has to go to reach such standards to fulfill this mold of beauty.

In my opinion, boobs are the greatest thing besides the reinvention of the blanket aka the Snuggie (I am in no way endorsing this product).

What can I say? I use my body because that’s how I’ve played it for most of my post-pubescent life. I understand the magnitude of how strong sex influences. My teen years were a time of discovery. I pushed aside my ragged rock band Queen t-shirt and embraced the power of the push-up bra.

I am glad I have breasts. Sure, this blog post completely diverts away from the points Valenti, and Wolf made about how the concept of beauty has been distorted to suit the androcentric, sexist society we live by keeping the women population under control, but I confess when I wear a low-cut shirt and my cute lacy bra I feel great! Why? Because I like the attention and because I feel the most confident. I see nothing wrong with having to flaunt with what I’ve got. (Most) guys have their big muscles and good looks, but that’s about all. Sure they can’t go around waiving their penis around to get what they want because men don’t have what we have. I know, I know, women shouldn’t have to use such a strategy to get attention because not every woman has big breasts and “good looks” but do you see how my mentality is making you hate me even more?

Love your boobs. Don’t feel confident about yourself? Think you need plastic fun bags and is willing to go under knife and endure weeks of numbing pain? Go for it! Why must most women subject themselves to thinking that her body isn’t perfect? What are years of emotional scarring and trauma to a few weeks of pain and therapy. Will every woman reach the degree to which they can fully satisfied? I don’t know. Can I guarantee that every woman in the class this morning will hate me? Heck, yes!

Have I succeeded to make you angry? Have I showed you the extremities I had to go to make you understand that beauty is constructed under these certain societal standards that every girl tries to achieve? Will you change your ways? Are you willing to change for the betterment of humankind? Are you willing to sacrifice your “beauty” to prove it in society’s face—men—that the way you look is not for them but yourself?