OR: Telling Emily G that she has great breasts will guarantee a sale. Keep it in mind, salespeople of Philadelphia!
Now, I would like to step right up and testify: Coeur is awesome. Here is the story of how I became fine with having a stranger manipulate my boobs and learned how to put on a bra properly:
My mom was never super big on the girl talk (it may also be possible that I just wasn’t paying attention, I wasn’t super big on the girl talk). We went to get my first bra at J.C.Penney when I was 12, and that was that.
I’ve never had a particularly big rack, and I generally went braless with maybe a camisole for nipple-obscuring purposes up until a few months ago.
So it was under these circumstances that I persuaded myself that what I really needed was to get a proper, non-Victoria’s Secret bra fitting at a nice place. Everyone on the internet promised that it would change my life! So I did a bit of research and rolled over to Coeur Lingerie, at 17th and Sansom.
Coeur is a small shop above a fancy-waffle place. There is a doorbell. The owner is usually there; her name is Mona Lisa Jackson. She knows her shit back and forth.
There’s a front area with lingerie covering nearly every inch of surface area, and there’s a smaller alcove in the back where there is a lot more haphazard merchandise and one dressing room.
So a few months ago I walked in, feeling awkward. Mona was helping someone else, so I wandered around the shop for a while. When she was ready and learned that I wanted a bra fitting, she waved her arm toward the back alcove of the shop.
“OK, so head back there and take off your coat, shirt and bra. I’m going to wash my hands, I’ll be back in a second.”
I headed to the back alcove, which was not even close to having a door or curtain. It was just a small room anyone could walk into. I took off my coat. I took off my shirt. I looked at myself dubiously in the mirror, convinced myself I had misheard and left my ancient, ratty Victoria’s Secret bra on.
When Mona arrived a few minutes later, she looked somewhat surprised that I had disobeyed orders and had me remove my bra. She stood back five feet and studied my rack for a few seconds, about enough time for embarrassment to start creeping in. And then she won my heart (and my money) forever, saying, with an air of complete sincerity and a nod of approval:
“Well, you have great breasts!”
I was sold. Have you ever had someone compliment your breasts in a nonsexual way? I hadn’t. It’s awesome. I’m sure she says this to everyone, but it still felt very genuine.
She brought out several bras, and actually watched while I put them on. Which I have apparently been doing wrong my whole life. While I tended to just strap them on and have done with it, there’s a grab-and-tuck maneuver to get the, uh, sideboob in the bra cup that I had not been aware of. Mona told me I wasn’t doing it right, then without the slightest hesitation reached over, took hold of both the bra I was wearing and my left boob and did it for me, step by step.
Pull down on the outer edge of the cup, grab the far side of the breast, pull up, let drop, adjust band. It was done so fast and with so little awkwardness that from that point on, I was totally OK with all things breast-related. Show me again? She actually showed me on both herself and myself until I could get it right. I was hanging out with my tits out in the back of a store, and I was totally OK with that.
Mona, had she been a less nice woman, could probably have sent me on my way with five new bras, a set of pasties and a seriously nasty credit card bill (they have some serious stuff in there; I’m talking $395 bra and panty sets). But I left the store with a great $30 bra Mona mercifully dug up from some clearance rack.
So hear ye, hear ye: I am indeed a 34B, as I have been lo these many years. I think the whole “it’ll change your life” propaganda comes mostly from girls with less boring bra sizes. But honestly, and I don’t mean to brag here, my rack looks waaaaaay better than it did before I visited. This has been independently verified by a number of sources. I highly advise stopping by sometime.
Oh, and Coeur apparently has a secret cache of high-end sex toys for sale in the back, if you’re looking to buy your sex toys from somewhere where the cashier is guaranteed not to wink at you in a creepy way.