“I ’m a feminist... And I got a boob job”

One cosmo reader reveals why she’s been hesitant to admit she’s gotten implants.

Portrait of Tammy Strobel

One cosmo reader reveals why she’s been hesitant to admit she’s gotten implants.

 Photography: Photoworld/click photos.
Photography: Photoworld/click photos.

As a lecturer at a university, I work among some incredibly bright women. But on one issue, they continue to surprise me. When we were discussing a research project about plastic surgery and the conversation led to implants, I was stung by the snarky remarks, giggles and eye-rolls from some of my most highly educated peers. That’s because I have breast implants. I didn’t speak up. I realise that keeping my implants a secret means I’m condoning their prejudices, but I’m worried they’ll think I’m a flake if I come clean. (In fact, I’m writing this under a pseudonym.) But the truth is, I actually love my implants. And getting them was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Since age 16, I’d wanted bigger boobs—I equated them with being a woman—but a padded bra was as far as I’d go. A boob job seemed like something for a different type of woman, a celebrity or someone more showy. At the same time, I was aware the procedure was becoming more common. In fact, from the time I moved from middle school to high school, its popularity had increased. Dr Tan Ying Chien, Consultant Plastic Surgeon at The Sloane Clinic Plastic Surgery Centre, agrees, “Breast augmentation is definitely getting much more common; I personally have seen an increase of about 15 - 20% of patients per year over the last three years.”


But I was conflicted. Would implants betray who I really was? I had been teased over being flatchested as a teenager, but I was also made fun of for being a bit of a weirdo and too artsy and I didn’t want to change those things about me. Wishing I had bigger breasts made me feel guilty, like I was agreeing with people who had put me down. I also worried I was feeding into a culture that connected selfworth with full breasts. Raised to value brains over looks, I could acknowledge the beauty in other women of all shapes, yet I now found it nearly impossible to see my own body with the same accepting eyes.

Looking back, I realise I was starting to become a feminist. Funny, because I absolutely didn’t consider myself one back then. To me, the label evoked manhaters who wore cargo pants but over the years I realised that feminism is just about equality and choice. This definition is far more appealing, which may explain why even celebs like Beyoncé, Emma Watson and Harry Styles (yes, Harry Styles) are waving their feminist flags.


The inner debate went on and on, till three years ago, at 24, when the side of me that wanted bigger boobs won out. I made the jump from an A to a C.

The results were amazing. I felt one hundred per cent sexier, and my husband is a big fan of them (to say the least). As time went on, I realised that my decision didn’t clash with my feminist values at all—I’d made the right choice for me.

I recently read Roxane Gay’s brilliant book Bad Feminist. She writes, “Feminism is flawed because it is a movement powered by people and people are inherently flawed.” So perfectly stated: a list of rules won’t help anyone feel more empowered or beautiful.

I do have mixed feelings about getting implants, and it’s obviously still not a decision I want to share with everyone.

Yet I’m proud to be a feminist—one who happens to have really good boobs.