![]() This kind of amateur tryst would happen in classy nightclubs in Romford. I let boys feel them up when I was getting off with them, believing that the padding was passing for real body, trusting they couldn’t tell the difference. Photograph: Linda Nylind for the GuardianĪt the time, I was still wearing a thickly padded bra every day, and when I went out at night I wore two, one on top of the other. In the waiting room people would ask: ‘What you here for then?’ and then laugh, because it sounded as if they were in prison or something. It seemed unfair to me that she would be getting the same surgeon as these other women who were paying thousands of pounds, although maybe her NHS implants would be shoddier? Crude and unsophisticated, like when you got NHS glasses in the olden days. I would have argued that pretending to be crazy is pretty crazy and she should stop bragging about it. But of course she wasn’t really crazy, she added, she’d just cheated the system. She had to get the doctors to agree she was mentally unstable and couldn’t function until she got this operation that was the only way to get the NHS to buy them for you. Then she had gone to a psychiatrist and said that she would kill herself if she didn’t get them. Freeboobs said it wasn’t luck but that she couldn’t afford to pay, so she had had to go to the doctor loads of times and cry and cry and say she was depressed. People were asking how, wondering aloud if they should have tried that. Everyone said she was so lucky, getting freebies. There was a woman who was getting hers done on the NHS. They were intoxicated by the proximity of their lumpy goal, and each shared her backstory unguardedly, encouraging and praising each other, while I judged them and pretended I wasn’t listening. It must have been Implants Day at the clinic because all the women were there for the same operation in a variety of sizes. I stared at wood-panelled walls as people began to cross-pollinate, introduce themselves and ask: “What you here for then?” and then “Ha ha ha,” they would laugh, because it sounded as if they were in prison or something. But the waiting room wasn’t empty as I had planned – it was busy with everybody chatting, full of excitement and apprehension. It was here that I had planned to berate my aunt for what she was doing, using clever arguments about how she was an idiot and everyone at her work would notice. So we were in the waiting room and I was quiet. Now I realise that we all have our own subjective realities that affect our decisions and that it wouldn’t be fair if I was in charge of everyone. ![]() ‘These women are part of an ongoing experiment that could be called “What happens when you do this to breasts?”’ Photograph: Juan Silva/Getty Images I used to think there was a definitive right and wrong and that only I knew what they were and so I should be dictator of the world. Growing older has helped me become empathetic to other people and their reasons for making choices. I was moralistic and “right on” and had very few friends. I was exceptionally opinionated as a teenager, never afraid to rant and ruin a birthday party or cinema trip. When I was 16, one of my aunts had an appointment in Harley Street and I went, too, in an attempt to change her mind. I’m no longer welcome in that fine county and it’s my own fault for being judgy and preachy. Breast enlargements are discussed as a sensible corrective: “Oops, did God forget to give you boobies? Let’s have a whip-round.” No one stands on a table and says, “YOU WANT YOUR HEAD CHECKED, MATE, DON’T YOU DARE HURT YOURSELF LIKE THIS, I’M GOING TO SHOUT AND SHOUT UNTIL YOU REALISE THAT YOUR BODY DOES NOT DEFINE YOU,” except me. Her family and friends will giggle or check they’ll be allowed a squeeze to test realism, and they’ll be accepting. When a young lady from Basildon or Romford announces, “I’m getting them done,” she is greeted with reactions ranging from nonchalance to congratulations. Like repainting a house or something, these operations are viewed as a decorative tweak. I reckon one in five women I know have had a boob job. In Essex, where I’m from, breast enlargement is relatively common.
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