Big Tits & Little Shits- on growing up with buxom breasts

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I was fine with my big tits until I was 14 in the P.E. changing rooms and another girl told me that I had the body of a 40 year old. Up until that point, I’d always had a sense of faux pride in what my body had provided for me – big breasts that had been getting me attention for the past two years at least. A chubby body that had finally pushed some fat toward being called curves. With a badly chosen pixie cut, aged 12, I pulled my school shirt tight across my chest to confirm for others that I was definitely a woman.

As if I knew what womanhood was.

As if I understood the sexualisation, the sexual exploitation, the sexual abuse that I would suffer in my life as a woman because of the breasts I desperately sought approval for in my pubescent years.

As if I understood how I suffered through that as a young girl.

The trope that girls mature faster than boys is not true. Because of it, we feel like we have to. Because we feel like we have to, we eventually do. As I look back on my preteen years, I realise that I accepted being sexualised by others – even adored it – long before I even knew what a dick looked like. Long before I even knew what my own pussy looked like. Because we are raised to see sexual attention as positive attention, regardless of who it’s coming from.

Thanks to my fat body and my fast hormones, I was well on my way through puberty before my friends. In primary school girls asked me what a period was like and I lied rather than admit I didn’t know. My body looked developed enough to have periods. I didn’t want people to think that I wasn’t developing in time with my tits.

I do not blame myself or my body for the sexualisation that I suffered as a child. Growing up with big breasts, with a body unlike my peers, meant that mocking and false maturity came hand in hand. At an eleven year old sleepover, we took turns touching my chest because we had an obsession with breasts before we’d even reached secondary school. I was – and still am – a sufferer of unwanted gasping, groping and ‘Good God girl!’ commentary. The difference is now, I will happily tell people to fuck off.

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What twelve year old me would never have dared to do, I’ve learned instinctively. Spitting and shouting at men old enough to be my dad would never have crossed my mind when my preteen self wanted to wear a vest. Humiliating those who feel they have a right to my body, just because it’s exposed, feels like the only way forward.

It’s unfair that we have to suffer this way our entire lives, just for being women, just for the way our body fat falls. It’s disgusting that we have to suffer this way as children – dressing as adults and playing at womanhood isn’t a thick enough armour against misogyny and paedophilia at any age.

An obsession with youth combined with porn star sized breasts? I was everything that a man could want. After all, what more can we expect from a society that teaches men terms like ‘jailbait’ and ‘barely legal’ are acceptable. Where the Daily Mail is allowed to countdown to Charlotte Church’s 16th and thirteen years later, we’re no longer condemning Tyga and Kylie Jenner’s relationship since her 18th birthday.

In the thirteen years that I’ve struggled through being preteen, dealing with puberty and accepting my big, bouncy body as an adult, the media and society is still grasping onto the sexualisation of youth. I wish I could go back and protect the younger versions of myself. I wish I could think of a way to do that outside of covering up her developing body.

I’m not arrogant enough to think that this sexualisation was something I suffered solely because of my looks. I know that this is an issue that all women deal with, regardless of breast size. And I am furious that it’s still such an issue. I’m sick of social media memes mocking 14 year olds for looking 20, when it’s what’s expected of us. And I’m worried for this new generation of preteens, who have the resources to make them look like the adults they think they have to be, and the way they’re going to be treated because of their looks.

Words by Georgina Jones

Illustration by Georgia Haire

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