I had always been too scared to get a bra fitting. (I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, I just was, all right?!) Plus, I had never had a problem with the fit of my bras, until I needed a really good, supportive sports bra for teaching Zumba®. So I turned to my fellow instructors, and my beautiful friend Lorena said she’d take me to a specialty store to get fitted. Great! I was nervous and excited, like the first day of school, but shirtless.

But of course it couldn’t be that easy. I mean let’s face it: I have excellent luck with the crazies and the weirdo customer service providers in this world.

SIDENOTE: Lorena has no idea that my bra-fitting experience was not a fully positive one because I do this very Canadian thing where I smile through irritating situations and am too nice to get upset with people. So Lorena, I apologize for not telling you about this! But hey, you can laugh about it now, right?

I feel pretty in-tune with my bra size. I had basically been wearing the same bra size since I was a teenager, and then when I started losing a lot of weight and my size went down significantly, I made a point of trying on a wide range of sizes until I found a bra size that felt perfect. Literally.

SIDENOTE: The perfect size was also exactly what I guessed I’d be at – a 36D* – so I felt confident in my instincts. My maternal grandma designed and made clothes her whole life, and I have experience in making my own clothes, too, so guessing sizes is something I feel safe doing, and have done in a number of circumstances (gift shopping, costume shopping for my theatre productions, etc.).

So I genuinely thought that I would get my bra fitting done, and the lady would tell me I should be wearing the exact size I was wearing, and I could just try on a number of sports bras in that size and everything would be awesome and fun and wonderful. Heck, maybe I’d even try on some sexy bras, too. I deserved it!

I'd walk out of there feeling as glamorous as Dita Von Teese!
I’d walk out of there feeling as glamorous as Dita Von Teese!

I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when, after taking two quick measurements, the very dry, very blunt woman performing my bra fitting told me that my bra size was 40F.

I laughed.

“What?! No – that’s impossible.”

“That’s your size.” She replied. DRYLY.

I tried to argue with her, but she walked away to pull me a selection of sports bras. In a size 40F.

I probably don’t need to tell you this, but guys, there is NO WAY IN HELL I am a size 40F.

Compared to a 40F, my tits don’t even EXIST.

I’m a 40F like Pamela Anderson is a 32AA.

I stood in the fitting room, wearing my perfectly fitting 36D, too stunned to speak.

It was at that moment that I realized this day was not going to go as I had hoped.

The lady returned with four sports bras that – needless to say – were HUGE. I decided to try one on just so that she could see how ridiculous this entire thing was.

Of course I was right. Compared to that 40F sports bra, my boobs, didn’t exist. The cups were holding themselves up and my itty bitties were floating around like, “haha, you can’t see us!” and the band was way too big around my body.

“I’m ready.” I said with smug satisfaction, thinking the woman would take one look at me and realize she was horribly mistaken.

She didn’t.

“Hmm,” she raised an eyebrow at me, “It’s just slightly too big – maybe we’ll go down one cup size.”


“I think I should go down in band size, too. This bra is huge.”

“No, no,” she brushed me off, “I measured you at a 40.”

(My inner thought: “I’ve measured myself at a 36, so what the hell is wrong with you, lady?!”)

(Also: “Isn’t the customer ALWAYS right?! Let me have my moment!”)

I won’t even tell you how long this went on for. I finally – FINALLY got this woman to let me try on a 38DD sports bra, which, by the way, was still way too big.

“Hmm. You’re on the smallest closure and it’s still loose, so maybe we can try bringing you down to a 36.”

(Inner thought: “MAYBE?!”)

“Can I try on the 36D, please?”

“No. if we’re going down in band size, we can’t go down in cup size.”

(Inner thought: “WHY DO YOU HATE ME, LADY?! WHY?!”)

I walked out of there with a 36DD sports bra that sort of fit for about two wears. Then the cups stretched from the sweat and the movement, and I proceeded to float around in it for another month (even after putting it in the dryer) until I gave up on it.

That’s when I learned that:

(A) I should trust my own size instincts, and

(B) I had every reason to be scared of that bra fitting.


P.S. At one point, when the ridiculously large bra this woman was trying to get me to like wasn’t fitting (DUH!), she said to me, “Wow, you have a very short torso – it’s weird. These bras are all fitting you strangely. There’s not enough length from your shoulder to your breast.”

That is definitely what the problem is, lady. And thank you for making me feel awesome about my torso.

*Yup, sure did just publish my bra size on the Internet. So this is my life. Incredible!