The island of braless older women
“Bras are a ludicrous invention”
Somewhere between midlife and now, I stopped worrying about holding everything up - appearances, expectations, even my breasts.
I live on an island of braless, older women. Here, bras are optional, and everyone’s fine with that. The local dress code leans toward baggy sweaters, loose linens, jeans, and Birkenstocks. We are comfortable with ourselves, every sag, grey hair, and laugh line. Support doesn’t mean being held up by straps; these days, it comes from friendship, laughter, and deep conversations.
Stand up straight, chest out, stomach in.
In our younger years, we were told to stand up straight, chest out, stomach in. Shopping for our first bra was, for many of us, a rite of passage. During my early teens halter tops were in fashion. My favourite was a dark blue one that felt like silk, caressing my skin, unencumbered by straps and hooks. One day, my mother came into my room; my father had insisted I start wearing a bra. The glances from boys and men made him uncomfortable.
So I wore a bra. For decades. Until one day, I didn’t. I would unhook my bra the minute I got home, putting it back on only if company arrived at the door. It felt like a small act of defiance. Then it became a ritual. And now? A few months ago, while doing errands, the wire in my bra snapped under my right breast. The wire then pierced my skin, drawing blood and causing a lot of pain. Why, oh why, was I still wearing a bra when I headed out the door, I wondered?
I realized that for years I had been strapping myself in because, well, because women wear bras. It is a social norm. But there really is no reason to wear a bra unless you are large-breasted and/or need support for discomfort and strain on your neck, shoulders, and back. Bras do not prevent sagging despite what my mother drilled into me. They pinch, they poke, they leave marks. Enough said.
Letting go of old expectations.
Once upon a time, going braless was a statement. Now, for me, it is just common sense. My shoulders have carried enough weight in life without the added burden of digging straps and poking wire. I used to worry about what people might think, but I have now reached the age where I no longer care. It took me years to realize that letting go of a bra was not just about comfort — it was about letting go of old expectations.
So yes, I live on an island of braless older women. There’s a quiet kind of confidence among these women. We are comfortable in our skin, grounded, and lifted by our shared refusal to be held up by anything but our own joy. Our bodies tell stories—of births and heartbreak, adventures and recovery. Why would we want to hide that? Every curve, fold, and soft spot is a map of where we have been.
We have earned the right to let things fall where they may.
What holds me up these days are the simpler things in life - a cup of freshly ground coffee at sunrise, ocean waves rustling pebbles lining the shore, and the company of women who have stopped trying to defy time and have started dancing with it instead. Maybe that is what freedom looks like at this age - not the absence of gravity, but the presence of ease. We have earned the right to let things fall where they may.
