Category: Life with the Girls

As a health magazine fashion editor, Gabrielle Porcaro eats, sleeps and breathes workout wear. So what took her so long to get comfortable in a sports bra? Find out in this month’s “Life with the Girls.” 

The New York City boutique spin-class scene can be intimidating. Working out in minimal clothing is enough to make anyone feel insecure, but beautiful people with killer bods, dressed in the latest and greatest fitness gear, looking fresh no matter the hour? It’s an uphill climb.

So when I first started getting really into indoor cycling, the whole designer workout thing threw me for a loop I didn’t see coming: I was suddenly self-conscious about what I was wearing.

Let me back up. I had been a fashion editor for nine years at that point. Around then, I began working at Women’s Health, when activewear really started to evolve and athleisure took over the runways. It was literally my job to help women look stylish and offer advice on what to shop for, especially when it came to workout wear. I do a generally good job of getting dressed if I do say so myself and, on most occasions, style isn’t something I stress over. So to be surrounded by well-appointed fitness fans and feel like I didn’t fit in gave me serious pause.

I knew what was preventing me from looking and feeling stellar at spin: my sports bra.

It would get my leggings in a twist to see so many women who could wear cute little nothing bras, with gossamer-thin straps somehow sturdy enough to keep them comfortably spinning into oblivion. In my world, thin straps don’t exist. As someone with 34DDs, my breasts are something I always have to consider, no matter what I’m suiting up for.

This is not a take-down of my bra size; I’m happy with and proud of it. It’s that, at my size, support can’t be found in just any bra I like. That goes double for sports bras.

Back then, all the sports bras that supported me were extra stiff, bulky and massive. They reminded me of bulletproof vests or suits of armor. They were hard to hide under the flimsy, fashion-forward tops all the cool girls were wearing. Athletic companies weren’t equipped to cater to larger busts, and I couldn’t get away with wearing an over-the-head L or XL compression-style bra, though heaven knows I tried.

Apart from thick cups that bulked up my body, wide straps were the bane of my existence. Because I didn’t dare walk into a class with those straps exposed, I couldn’t just throw on a tank and get to it. I made it my personal quest—fortunately, one I was allowed to take on during business hours—to figure out both the best sports bras to support me and the right tops that would make me more confident walking into my next SoulCycle or FlyWheel session.

Now, my favorite sports bra styles are the ones that have less padding and are lower-cut, like ones from Natori. As long as the bra doesn’t make my breasts look and feel like a shelf installed just south of my chin, I’m all for showing some cleavage.

When I put on a sports bra that goes up over my boobs, like my Panache Ultimate High Impact Underwire Sports Bra, I figured out that a muscle tank pairs perfectly; the higher cut conceals the fullness of the bra. I also love the kind of activewear shirts with big armholes for when I feel like showing some side skin.

T-back or racerback sports bras still aren’t my first choice (ever tried wriggling out of a sweaty one?) but, with them, I can wear a looser, boxier tank. So long as the silhouettes are same, I’m fine with my bra peeking out a little.

It might be silly to overthink these kinds of things, and of course, there are days when I just don’t care and break my own rules. What it really comes down to is that wearing something stylish helps me feel strong and self-assured while grinding out the final mile. The last thing I want is to be distracted when I’m putting in the time to do something for myself.

At the same time Andrea Pyros was developing her chest, breast cancer was ending her mother’s life. This Mother’s Day, Andrea looks back on her growing pains and pays tribute to the woman in whose absence she defined her presence.

Know what’s the worst? Puberty. Entering it. Living through it. Everything about it, A to Z, awkwardness to zits.

I hated being the first in the class to get my period, going from flat to fully-developed C-cup in under a year. My best friend despised getting so much taller than everyone else, while another friend was miserable about being so late to develop. No matter if you’re first, last or smack-dab in the middle, none of it is enjoyable.  

When I was in sixth grade, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, making those difficult, emotional years that much more so. I was uncomfortable enough with my own changing body, but now my emerging breasts were even more fraught. Not only did they bring me unwanted attention from boys in my school and men on the street, I also learned that they had the capacity to bring on a serious illness out of the blue.

In this month’s “Life with the Girls,” Laura Lifshitz walks us through an ordinary day which, as it turns out, is disproportionally dictated by the whims of her breasts. Defy you not to relate.

6 AM: Morning arrives much earlier than I would like. (Thank you, adulthood.) While my soul is crushed that the alarm has sounded and I have, in short order, exceeded the maximum number of snooze hits, there is one delightfully happy part of me: my boobs.

My boobs greet the morning with unadulterated joy. Why are my boobs so happy, you may ask? Because freedom. Unlike the rest of me, they awaken in an unguarded state of leisure.

In this month’s “Life with the Girls,” Catherine Censor reflects on a half-century spent negotiating peace with her adversarial breasts: the God-given ones, the surgically-reduced ones and the artificial ones. 

My breasts have always been something of a disappointment. Or rather, I have been a disappointment to my breasts. At every stage of my life, we have struggled to coexist.

I developed early and with great enthusiasm. My 34Ds made their appearance just in time for co-ed gym class but years before the invention of the sports bra. Since I was—still am—under five feet tall, my breasts occupied more than their fair share of corporeal real estate, and they were a poor fit in other regards. As a bookish kid, I was mortified to have big breasts, and I’m sure the breasts were equally chagrined that they weren’t affixed to a stripper.

Presenting “Life with the Girls,” a new monthly Bare it All series. We’re sharing women’s reflections—profoundly personal, full of heart and capital-R-real—on contending with our chests along with everything else life throws our way. First up: Anna Davies takes on the world with little more than her trusty backpack and a few good bras.

Hoodies. Yoga pants. Oversize chambray shirts. Clog boots. Slogan T-shirts. If you looked in my closet, you’d get a pretty good snapshot of my life: mid-thirties mom with a love of athleisure.

My lingerie drawer, though, tells another story.

From delicate bralettes to ethereal silk balconettes, my bra selection espouses a sexiness-first ethos that the rest of my wardrobe…doesn’t.

As a single parent not dating at the moment, no one is seeing my lingerie this Valentine’s Day. But putting on lingerie I love makes me feel like me. In control. Ready to handle any situation—from a work crisis to a toddler meltdown—with confidence.