I still remember getting my first bra. It was soft, white cotton mesh with embroidered pink flowers. It served no discernible purpose other than to make sure I wasn’t the last girl in my class to get one. But to my 12-year-old self, it signified womanhood: what glamour, what sophistication, twirling in front of the mirror. I look just like Madonna, I thought. (I did not.) After this, more or less unthinkingly, I wore a bra every day for 20 years. There was the inevitable push-up phase, the simple T-shirt bra phase, the somewhat classier black lace phase. It was a non-negotiable step of getting dressed, even if I was just lounging around the house.
All this changed in March 2020. I contracted Covid, which turned into long Covid; for three and a half years my life ground to a halt. Among an ever-rotating inventory of symptoms, one of the most persistent was an intense pain in my sternum, just above my solar plexus. Every time I tried to put on a bra, it would make it even worse and I would start struggling to breathe.
