If you haven’t been inundated with the color pink and women’s breasts this month, then well, quite frankly, you must live in a hole. It’s October, which means the whole freaking world turns pink and everyone bandies about breast synonyms like they’re the word… well, like.
And all this booby talk? It’s all in the name of “charity and goodness”.
This should feel great. This should feel awesome. Why then, do I feel so sick about it that this year I’m actually angry at all the campaigning? It’s not that I’m against raising money for breast cancer. Quite the opposite is true. Cancer has rocked the hell out of my family more times than I can count and more of my peers have fought the damn disease than I ever imagined possible. I will do anything and everything I can to fight for more information, treatment and cures. And yet, if I see another save the boobs t-shirt I might vomit.
I think it’s because somewhere along the way what was possibly an innocent push to raise awareness turned into what feels like an exploitative occasion to focus on women’s breasts.
Let’s be clear, whether I’m running a 5k or baking bread, I am doing it to save lives, not boobs. Of course, I recognize they are an integral part of being a woman, but they should not be the focus of our efforts. Saving the tatas might make a cute bumper sticker, but there is something about it that makes me feel like we are taking the importance away from the cause.
I know, I know, I should probably lighten up. After all, most of these are just cute ways to get attention for something very important. Hell, I’m about to participate in a Bananas for Boobies campaign myself in a few days and I am certain the person who organized this effort was thinking of nothing more than the lives of those affected by cancer-not breasts at all.
As usual with anything controversial, I vowed to remain silent (except to the poor Husband who hears from me a lot on this topic. Sorry, babe.) But then I saw this and I couldn’t contain my anger any more. This shit is the very thing I was afraid of. Somehow we’ve taken “in the name of charity” to be an excuse for abhorrent behavior. I don’t care how much money they raise. What they did was wrong and as far as I’m concerned does nothing to further any cause besides the cause of disrespectful filthy dudes. Maybe it’s just a few rotten apples. But what if it isn’t?
I wonder, in an effort to be cute and creative, have we slid into dangerous territory where we make a woman’s chest her most valuable asset. Have we lost sight of what we should really be fighting for and are we sending our efforts and money in perhaps the wrong direction? We’ve already read about the danger of pink-washing. No one pointed out the dangers of pink-consumerism better than Susan. How about the danger or boob-worship?
Our mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, and friends are sick. Some are dying. All of these women are important and they deserve our time our money and our honor. And none of that is because they do, or do not, have boobs. I want to save the women, not their tatas.
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