As the day nears when I belly-up to the Thanksgiving table, I am reminded of the wonderful white meat that I so enjoy. The succulent mound of flesh sitting atop that bird…the most decorated, the most talked about, the most basted.

The Breast. Even the word brings cozy thoughts to the hearts of women and men everywhere. Ah…the breast.

Sure, there are millions of ‘leg’ guys amongst us, a few wing oddballs out there…but those in the know…we’re breast-centric.

So beloved is this part of the anatomy that there are, literally thousands of names to describe it…go ahead…think of ten…you know you can! There’s even a restaurant named for the breast, (Hooters…how beautiful, thoughtful and delicate a word to describe this celebrated body part.)

While the fans of our dance obsess over our bellies and teachers train our hips, our breasts are our obsession. They are a part of our dancing as they are a beautiful and powerful part of our bodies. Hair, it was said of days gone by, was a woman’s crowning glory. But in this new century, our glory is our bosom!

It matters not the size, or shape, the volume or political affiliation, breasts are a point of envy to others, a curiosity of some and a wonder by all…
TWO CHEERS! Brah-Brah!

And yet…we share some ambivalence about our knockers. Women who have some want more, those who have plenty wish they had less and those somewhere in between wonder how long they’ll stay ‘aloft’ before gravity takes its once youthful bounce to a new swinging scene.

Breasts have become a new ‘accessory’ for women. In the last 3 decades, we’ve discovered that we can wear them high, or low, pushed up, lifted, separated, seamless, padded, nipples, no nipples, cleavage…oh my...

Belly Dancers spend hundreds of hours in a given career seeking out costumes to enhance our bosom’s look without making them appear like they’re trying too hard. We like decoration, but shy away from waterfalls of glass beads ‘there’ and no, no, no nipple accents on the cups!

We shoulder shimmy, but, to be ‘authentic’, we breast shimmy…and do so without being vulgar. Bounce is ok, bounce-bounce is not.

We are as likely to tuck a note or key inside our bras as we are to refuse to be tipped there. We show our pride with a lift of our chest, we decorate décolletage with ultra fine glitter and dangerously dangle delicate necklaces in places where men only dream to tread.

Some dancers opt for the ‘natural look’, letting their amplitude meander free under a beautifully decorated choli. Others go for a more ‘studied’ look, hoisting the gals up their torso to the area of their chin with an architectural finesse that would make Frank Lloyd Wright proud. And then there are those pioneers who have enlisted the help of modern medicine to give them what Mother Nature did not. No pads, no under wires, no smoke and mirrors…those babies look showroom new each and every show!

I know of dancers so proud of their racks that they’ve named them. "Barnes & Noble"; "Lenny & Squiggy"; "The Girls"; "The Guys"; "The Twin Towers"; "Cheech & Chong"; and "Hey, my eyes are up HERE".

I, personally, am a big fan of the breast. I became obsessed as a young girl, when I first discovered my father’s sole copy of Playboy Magazine (quite by accident, I was looking for my birthday present), which had been hidden between a Sears catalog and the owner’s manual for the garage door opener. I couldn’t believe that I would, one day, get a pair of those. I was delighted and curious at the variety of colors, shapes and sizes, (I was under the misguided notion that I‘d get to choose make and model!) This was the era of pre-enhancement, so ‘natural’ was in…I stuffed my father’s socks inside my shirt, looked in the mirror, thrilled, and then I began to worry.

"What if mine don’t grow? What if I never get to buy a bra?" But, they did grow, as they did with my grandmother and my mother and my sisters. And my bras have been many…and…to my delight…are now heavily sequined.
I’ve been blessed with breast.

I found great power in this rack. I lift and drop and shimmy them with pride. I notice other women ponder them and men fantasize about them. I worry when they get ‘mammogramed‘. They are democratic, opinionated, beautiful and mine.

So on this very special holiday, when we get together with our loved ones and share a that traditional meal, let us all stop for a moment to give silent thanks for everything we have. And then, in unison, we can dig that little piece of stuffing from our cleavage that fell from our full forks.

Comments
sarahskinner
Gia, I Just absolutely adore your articles!!! more! Sarah

Sapphira
Oh Gia you're the breast! You lift my spirits and separate my sorrows... You're the underwire that supports and upholds bellydance wisdom.... Let us forever be bosom buddies!

Aisha
I loved your tribute to the breast! I teach high school, and many of my colleagues get so upset with the amount of cleavage they see. Personnally, the cleavage I see "coming" is a hell of a lot more attractive that the cleavage I see "going!" Breasts are certainly in vogue these days. One thing I do hate is when women refer to theirs as "boobs." A boob is a stupid, ridiculous term, not something to be proud of. I have BREASTS!