As a young teenager, being flat-chested bothered me a lot. Mainly because I used to get teased, by boys and girls alike, for having little to nothing up front; my boyish shape was apparently not ‘normal’ or attractive to either sex. I wasn’t a storm in a B-cup, let alone an A-cup – and I cannot even begin to describe my hysterical joy when I managed to get my hands on a Wonderbra at around age sixteen. (Excitement city as I went from flat plain to small hillock.)

It wasn’t until my early twenties that I really started to become comfortable with my lack of chest but while I would like to say that my acceptance of my body shape was largely down to my own sense of self and growing maturity, I really have to credit my change in attitude to a handful of wonderful partners, including M (despite him being a self-confessed ‘boob man’), who were unfailingly positive about my body’s landscape – to borrow a line from Bridget Jones – just as it was.

So this picture is an homage to that cliched phrase that I’m sure all of us small-chested girls have heard at one time or another, ‘Anything more than a handful’s a waste’. Or in this case, ‘anything more than a camera …’. Continue reading →