[This post first appeared in a online journal I kept for friends and family during a trip to Europe this past summer. I thought readers here might enjoy it, too.]
You know how women with big breasts complain that guys sort of look them in the chest, not in their eyes? And when guys walk by they stare and stare?
Well, I have the same problem. I’ve got big boobs, too.
My boobs come in the form of a Fuji x100 camera, sort of the hottest, impossible-to-get camera of the day. It looks like an old-fashioned film camera but it is digital.
Everywhere I go people stare. The heads follow me as I pass, staring at something down there somewhere.
At first, in London, I thought my fly was open. Then maybe it was the way I dressed. Then an out-of-work special effects guy stops me to admire it and to show his friends. In Paris, at the photo museum, I thought everyone’s necks were going to be thrown out of joint given how much they were tracking the camera with their eyes, fixed upon my chest as I walked by, their bodies moving in the other direction. (And these were mostly females). In Basel, fellow zoo-goers asked me about it. In Freiberg, Germany a young man started to circle me like a wolf, staring at my chest the whole time. His name ended up being Christian, pronounced, Chris-t-on. (Hello, Christian!)
I mean, it’s freaky. I want people to like me for being me, not for what is bouncing around below my neckline. I want them to at least look me in the eye as they go by, as they greet me, as we chat. But, no, they stare at my chest, unblinking.
It’s tough having big boobs.