ROMANCE

YES, MY BREASTS SAG

WRITTEN BY MARIANNA POLETTI REYES ART BY ANDREA MÉNDEZ

Have you ever felt trapped? As if you’re unable to breathe, claustrophobic, or restricted. That’s how most breasts feel in a bra. Society has created an expectation for women to wear bras on a daily basis, stating that those who don’t wear bras will have breasts that sag. However, breast sagging is normal. Some reasons why breasts may sag include aging, smoking, weight loss, and pregnancy. If bras don’t affect whether or not breasts sag, then why is there a stigma behind people not wearing them? According to the HuffPost, the results of a 15-year study in France found that bras provide no benefits to women and may actually be harmful to breasts over time. The restrictive material of bras prevents tissue growth, leading breasts to sag. The “male gaze” is the start of the manipulation of breasts to enforce the beauty standards that society has put into place. The “male gaze” calls for perky breasts that are uplifted and made larger through a bigger bra cup size. Because it is made to seem embarrassing to do otherwise, those with breasts feel a societal pressure to wear support. Victoria’s Secret, for example, a well-known store that sells bras internationally, features women whose breasts don’t sag. If you viewed any fashion or beauty magazine, there is a very small chance you could find a person whose breasts are further down than the societal expectation. The fear of nipple exposure calling attention to one’s breasts is another reason why women are expected to wear bras, because nipples can be “distracting,” despite nearly every human being having nipples. #FreeTheNipple was a movement to encourage others to not feel required to wear a bra and instead let your breasts “sag.” “The movement argues that both men and women have breasts, whether big or small. They share the same characteristics such as breast tissue, areolas and nipples. The major difference between men and women’s breasts is that the ability to produce milk for offspring,” Her Campus explains. People are more likely to make unnecessary comments about whether or not they can see someone’s nipple through their T-shirt than about any other part of another person’s body. #SaggyBoobsMatter is another movement that has taken over the internet, where people have embraced their low breasts. This year has become the age for the body positivity movement. Not wearing a bra has become more normalized, not because of society, but because women have started to feel more comfortable with their own bodies. They are less ashamed of their nipples and breast size and have gotten rid of worrying about the shame they might receive because their breasts sag. However, the lack of representation for breasts of different shapes and sizes needs more attention. When you stop wearing a bra, you sleep better, your blood circulation will increase, your acne on your back or shoulders can clear up, you will be more relaxed, and you might even feel more empowered. So yes, my breasts sag—and there is nothing that can be done about it. YM

DEEP IN POLYAMORY

WRITTEN BY TALIA SMITH

Leaving campus at the end of last spring semester felt like a fever dream. I packed up my room in less than 24 hours; piling clothes and sheets into garbage bags, donating almost every last toiletry, and stuffing the shortest semester of my life into the trunk of my parents’ car feels like a memory that I just wasn’t fully there for. On top of the stress and uncertainty that was set ahead for the remainder of my spring or summer, I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I was leaving my friends—and my partner at the time—for a span of an unknown amount of days, weeks, or months. To top it off, I had been avoiding giving my parents, family, or friends from home any type of explanation about my relationship because it was not something that I thought would be taken lightly.

To be blunt about it, I went from being in a hetero monogamous relationship to being polyamorous with another queer woman—meaning that although we were “dating,”and would call each other “my girlfriend,” (yes, labels do sometimes make a difference!) and were very much in love with one another, we were not exclusively sleeping with or “talking to” each other. This worked for the most part because both of us felt the same about where we were in our lives; two young bisexual 20-somethingyear-old women who were looking to not only foster a genuine, love-filled relationship but didn’t want to limit any opportunities that came our way to meet (and kiss) other people. And even though it sounded like the perfect plan for a while, it was admittedly hard—but sometimes for reasons out of our control.

A common misperception about polyamory is that the only people who are willing to do it are people who want to “cheat on their partner,” people who are

ART BY NATASHA ARNOWITZ

“overly horny,” or people who are inexplicably afraid of commitment. The issues all lie within the way poly-oriented people are portrayed in life, media, and household conversation, but mainly with the hypersexualization of those who simply want to (and are able to) sustain a deep relationship with one person while being physically, and sometimes emotionally intimate with others at the same time. Unfortunately, I knew that a lot of people in my life pre-attending Emerson were just not used to this dating style, and I’d therefore have a ton of roadblocks ahead in navigating how to tell the people I loved about my relationship. And although I understand why these are all common thoughts and misconceptions, I think it’s most important to highlight and understand that polyamory does not just mean one thing—and therefore cannot be pinned as being such.

So, when I got home earlier this year, I was admittedly very anxious to tell my (mostly straight, cis, heterosexual) loved ones about the person I was actively seeing and falling in love with because I was afraid they just wouldn’t understand or support me. Polyamory was something that I had grown up only seeing on oddly skewed reality TV shows (queue TLC’s Sister Wives and Big Love and tell me they don’t make you feel… off for some reason?) and in my younger years, I was basically conditioned to see any romantic relationship that involved more than two, often heterosexual, people as “weird.” I didn’t know of any adults who were in a happy polyamorous relationship, and I was only seeing shows that sensationalized anything other than hetero-monogamy—making polyamory more of a spectacle than a possibility of being implemented into my daily life. And everyone around me followed suit.

The biggest issue that lay in front of my way that I wanted so badly to talk about the new love I was experiencing, but I was avoiding rejection. Although my partner and I were able to sustain an open relationship that was founded on the basis of trust, communication, honesty, and vulnerability—and was to date the most fulfilling relationship I’ve ever been in—I felt so shameful in not feeling comfortable with telling everyone I loved about it right away. Any open relationships that my friends and I had been aware of in high school were automatically regarded as being “over before it started,” because it was never an avenue that was taken seriously (or handled maturely) in our teenage years. Even more confusing was attempting to navigate telling my older family members—some of who, probably didn’t even know that my partner and I were polyamorous. Introducing them to a woman was daunting enough, so I figured I’d save the theatrics (and honestly, very personal details about our sex lives) for another conversation-starting announcement.

I will admit flat out that being in a polyamorous relationship was insanely hard at times, awkward, upsetting, and very much filled with gray areas that were nearly impossible to navigate. My partner and I had to have what felt like cyclical conversations about our open relationship, all scattered throughout the time we spent together, and all arguably very hard discussions to have with the person you love. We wouldn’t see eye to eye on what was “allowed” or “offlimits,” we’d have mixed feelings about where the “line” would lie in terms of seeing other people, and we even questioned canning the whole idea and being monogamous for a brief moment. But it’s not the ups and downs of polyamory that moved me to write this piece; it’s the lack of understanding and genuinity that attaches itself to polyamory as a construct, and therefore what made it so hard for me to shout about my love from the rooftops for everyone to know about. At the end of the day, I want people to understand that you can be in an open relationship with someone— meaning you can be sleeping with, or going out on dates with, or even dating another person at the same time as your significant other— and you can still develop a deep, caring, intimate and legitimate relationship with them. So until we can detach ourselves from the stigma of polyamory that shows like Sister Wives continually perpetuate, I guess I’ll just have to work through the doubt and confusing conversations until my dating style becomes a little bit more “normal.” YM

Straight for the Holidays

WRITTEN BY ALEXIS GARCíA RUIZ PHOTOGRAPHED BY XINYI GAO

Iturned 16 the day after I watched my country elect a president that set back my community by what felt like 100 years. At the time, I was deep in the closet, so in denial that I could not comprehend the crippling fear I was experiencing knowing that people who I loved had voted for Trump. Four years later, in the wake of yet another dehumanizing presidential election, the holiday season, and the daunting notion of going home to our families weighs on queer kids more than usual.

I always preface this by saying that I am extremely privileged all things considered: I am white and cisgender, and my immediate family has been nothing but supportive of me. Even then, however, seeing extended family during the holiday season can stir up so many complex crises of identity. For me, it often means feeling like I have to tone down my performance of queerness so as not to make anyone around me uncomfortable.

In 2020, it’s hard to believe that existing as an LGBTQ+ person is still a cause for debate. Being queer shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s a big deal for enough of our family members that we know to prepare for it. It was a big deal to my grandfather years ago when he pulled me aside before I even knew I was a lesbian.

“Ven aqui, mi niña,” he said. “Come here, my child.” My abuelo was my favorite person at that time, the person who made me feel like being me was always the very best thing I could do. “You’re not a homosexual right? We already have enough of that in our family.” I laughed, because he had to be joking.

“Don’t worry, Abuelo, I told him.” Because I wasn’t. He hugged me tight, as if to thank me for not being queer. My grandfather is no longer living, and while none of my other family members would ever be so forward with their discomfort, the ghost of his words still lingers each time I do anything that could possibly be incriminating.

I think the thing that weighs on me the most is knowing that a person can be gay in a million ways. A person can be gay in a quiet way, though this form of queerness is hardly a choice. It’s the kind that stems from intergenerational trauma, from witnessing a world where homosexuality is punishable by law and life sentences of shame. This is the kind of gayness that feels necessary when the people who love you talk around your sexuality rather than about it. The kind that feels necessary when acceptance means a family that looks the other way instead of one that says: I see you. I see who you are, and it’s okay. It’s wonderful.

I decided I would not be quiet before I even decided I was queer. When I was 14, I joined my school’s Gay-Straight Alliance as one hell of an ally, and I began posting loudly and angrily about queer issues on social media. Despite my passion for the rights of others to love whoever the fuck they wanted to love, the queerness inside me bubbled into something hideous. This fearless, public passion was a privilege, a sentiment I could only yell because I thought I was not a part of what I was fighting for. I could argue fiercely with family members about why marriage equality was worth fighting for because I felt I had a platform as a straight ally that did not leave me vulnerable. But the closer my own queerness got to spilling out of me, the less comfortable I felt performing it. The longer my eyes began to linger on girls’ lips, the quieter I grew. Because when a fight is yours, when you become the other, stakes change.

It’s even more complex when most of the time you’ve spent out of the closet has been time spent away from home, building an identity and a safe space for yourself in a community like Emerson where, all things considered, loud queerness is welcome. Going home can feel like being shoved back in a box, being forced to quiet yourself so as not to draw too much attention to the thing that separates you from the person your family knew you as before you came out.

The thing to remember is this: you do not owe anyone the comfort of fitting the mold they’ve constructed for you. Of course, safety must always be our priority as queer people. But immediate threats to our well-being notwithstanding, it is not our job to make sure our queerness is not disruptive to the people around us. Whether we choose to tone it down or not should be entirely out of concern for our own mental stability, not that of others. YM