The Feminist Case for Breast Reduction

Once I informed her the story for the primary time, I stood in a heat bathtub as steam rose round me. My voice echoed in opposition to the tiled partitions. It felt like a sort of christening, my phrases naming one thing that had not absolutely existed earlier than I spoke it and that naming had lastly made mine.

It was a weird sensation, to have a look at my breasts for the final time. There can be among the identical tissue, sure, and a brand new nipple minimize from the outdated one, however the breasts I had spent so a few years wishing totally different, their explicit weight, can be gone ceaselessly. Within the surgical theater, the physique is sacred solely to its inhabitant. It did sneak up on me, the unusual feeling of sacredness, as my surgeon squeezed and measured and scrawled on my breasts with a marker on the morning of my surgical procedure.

Once I had my earlobes sewn up at 32, I did not really feel a factor — not bodily or emotionally — till I stood up afterward and regarded down on the steel tray of instruments beside my surgical mattress, the place the little grey lumps of my earlobes nonetheless lay, like two chewed items of gum. “Oops,” the surgical assistant mentioned. “I am not presupposed to allow you to see these.” She folded them in inexperienced paper that lined the tray, which she then crumpled and threw within the metal waste bin. It tugged one thing in me, possibly my physique’s fundamental intuition to maintain itself intact. I instantly wished I had requested to maintain them. On the morning of my breast surgical procedure, I used to be glad I would not need to see my discarded components thrown within the trash.

I used to be additionally glad for the candy nurses, with their impeccably made-up faces and lilting voices. I used to be used to being in majority-female areas, however these had been usually stuffed with feminists, queers and trans and nonbinary individuals. The surgeon’s workplace was unabashedly female and steeped within the cozy assumption that everybody who entered was on the identical web page about magnificence — methods to outline it and certain that they wished it. Each time I stepped off the elevator, I felt like an outsider. If that they had glimpsed my furry legs, I’d have felt responsible, uncovered as a feminist Judas in deep cowl.

I discovered it an oddly comforting house. The implicit consensus precluded any rigidity within the environment, and I discovered that I had no need to problem the physician when he mentioned issues like, “They will be a lot perkier and younger,” or when one of many nurses squeezed my spouse’s shoulder and promised her, “You are going to love them!”

Which is all to say that the tradition of cosmetic-surgery places of work, and maybe the trade as an entire, aligns with the second-wave feminists’ take: an endorsement not solely of patriarchal magnificence requirements, however of patriarchal social construction. I perceive the temptation to increase this evaluation to the sufferers who elect to take part within the trade. However whereas scripting this essay, I spoke to a variety of self-proclaimed feminists who felt no loss or remorse about their surgical procedures — from thigh lifts to tummy tucks to vaginoplasty. Over all, the prevailing emotion was one in every of triumph and pleasure. It appears clear to me now that any feminist place on beauty surgical procedure that does not take girls’s relationships to their very own our bodies into consideration really objectifies them.

I would hated my physique for years, felt each obscured and uncovered by it, and subjected it to many acts that others wished regardless of my wishes. These cumulative burdens had consumed an inestimable period of time and vitality. Largely, that they had outlined my relationship to myself. All of the years of remedy and restoration and writing and studying and conversations with mates had modified that. I now not hated my physique. My expertise on the planet now not felt so outlined by my corporeal type. To bodily change my physique felt like an necessary strategy to concretize that work. It was not, as some may assume, a substitution for psychological change however somewhat a bodily consummation of 1 that had already taken place: a ritual commemorating my reclamation of my physique, as soon as and for all. I did not need it to be a delicate course of.

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