Building a Better Breast

by Sharon Kayne

I’ve never quite understood the male fascination with breasts. They are, after all, pretty much just lumps of flesh. But they are lumps of flesh that can stop a ninety-year-old man dead in his tracks. Kryptonite has nothing on Superman, compared to the hold a breast has on the average male. Every woman knows that for each minute we spend in face-to-face conversation with a man, he looks at our eyes for five seconds, and at our breasts for fifty-five. A guy even once told me (although he could have been quoting George Carlin) that if he had breasts of his own he’d never leave the house.

Speaking as someone who does have breasts of her own, I don’t see the enormous draw. Of course the whole reason I can say that is because I do have breasts of my own. And although, from a purely subjective point of view, I think mine are quite lovely, I have these pangs of insecurity every now and then that they’re merely adequate. Nothing more. And we all know men want more.

I’m not alone. Many of my friends feel the same way. (About their own breasts, of course. I have no idea how they feel about my breasts.) But most of my friends agree with me that having someone cut us open to put in baggies full of the same chemical goop you can get at the local hardware store is a gruesome, disturbing thought. Besides, we’re stuck trying to toe the feminist line that we can accept ourselves just the way we are. It’s frustrating.

Which is why I think my friend Cindy was so fascinated when she heard a radio ad for a natural, scalpel-free breast enhancement product. So fascinated, in fact, that she looked up the breast enhancement company’s website. The website claimed that one can “develop” one’s mammary glands by taking their natural, herbal product—which had not been evaluated by the FDA, because it was so incredibly natural and organic that it didn’t even begin to meet the FDA’s definition of a food or a drug. The website even listed the ingredients of their mammary-magnifying pills. There was lots of barley, hops, malt and rye in them. The website also recommended that one “stimulates” the mammaries with a breast pump when taking this product. They cautioned that a “medium to dark substance” would be extracted. Both Cindy and I were intrigued by the idea of a magic breast-growing pill. But we were leery. So we brought the topic up for discussion at a girl’s night out.

It was Faith—who was thinking quite level-headedly despite being on her second margarita—who suggested that, given the list of ingredients, the “medium to dark substance” one would extract was actually beer. The rest of us readily agreed. And then it struck us: The incredible implications of such a combination. By possessing not only larger breasts—but breasts that also produced beer—we could not only have most any man we wanted, we could also have them genuflecting on their knees before us. Intoxicated not only by the cornucopia of our bra cups, but drunk, as well, on their brimming bounty. Women could finally take complete and total control of the world.

Of course, since we are women—and therefore naturally life-giving, nurturing beings—we would never abuse our powers over men. We would be every bit as respectful and equitable with them as they have been with us for the past 5,000 years. And we’d let them eat pretzels in bed.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what I’d do with that kind of power. Although I knew one thing for sure I wouldn’t do was paint the outside of my house all by myself. I’d also probably get asked out on lots more dates. Of course, it wouldn’t be for my scintillating conversation. But, then again, my scintillating conversation never netted me many dates anyway.

I didn’t rush to this website and order a six month supply of breast-growing pills so I could start collecting a harem of adulating men. But it was nice to know that’s an option.

This classic Citizen Kayne column was originally published the week of April 29, 1999, in Crosswinds Weekly, an alternative newspaper based in Albuquerque, NM.

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