Roughly one-third of my waking hours since the age of eleven have been spent nodding in vague affirmation at the reminder, “You know, you’re probably wearing the wrong bra size.” This is a general piece of advice women like to give one another every couple of hours, just in case it’s been a few hours since someone said, “Most women in America are wearing the wrong bra size.” This is never followed by further instructions or more specific advice; it is simply a warning and a watchword and a sign by which we might know one another.

“Have you ever considered that you might be wearing the wrong bra size?”

“Sister, I consider it.”

“It is well.” Exeunt, covered in measuring tape.

What I’m about to recommend to you isn’t in any way a solution, or even necessarily a response, to the Every Size Bra Is Wrong conundrum; I merely mention it by way of context. There aren’t very many products I feel qualified to recommend. I think the LG LW8016ER 115-Volt Window Air Conditioner is very good, I buy almost all of my coffee mugs at gift shops in national parks because the selection there is generally both sturdy and aesthetically pleasing, and I like Maison Margiela’s At The Barber eau de toilette, but I don’t believe I’d recommend anyone else go out of their way to try such things if they did not feel already so inclined.

The product in question is the gc2b half-length binder, which comes in black, gray, navy, and several nude colors. There are lots of reasons why a person might decide to wear a chest binder; chiefly, I think, you should try it if the idea of wearing a chest binder, even once, appeals to you. I fear this may sound more facile than gently encouraging, which is not my intention. If you like, you may try the full tank, but I find the half-tank performs admirably and consider the extra material optional. The website provides a sizing chart; if you are uncertain about which one to order, I recommend rounding a size up and going from there. Everyone has their own peculiar relationship to comfort and beauty. I fall somewhere along the lines of a flimsy, delicate orchid, and do not wish to suffer an ounce more than I absolutely must. In my experience, the gc2b binder is breathable, flexible, neither digs into the back or the arms nor unnecessarily restricts movement. The binding panel is only sewn into the front, so one’s lungs are not unduly compressed, and the material of the garment itself is relatively soft and seamless, so that one need not wear anything underneath as padding, which is not always the case with other brands.

Everyone has their own peculiar relationship to comfort and beauty, mine is along the lines of a flimsy, delicate orchid.

This is an odd and roundabout sort of recommendation, I think. Thus far I have endorsed an item of clothing where the selling points are, apparently, “You can still breathe when you wear it” and “It doesn’t hurt, exactly.” I have never before been moved to endorse any sort of undergarment, either in public or in private, and yet the highest praise I seem able to muster in this instance is “You can still move your arms when you wear this.” I have not yet built a compelling case. I will speak further.

I do not remember when or where I first heard about binders. Certainly I never wore one before this year, nor did it ever occur to me that I might wish to. I seem to have found myself in possession of certain knowledge overnight, as if someone or something had transmitted both awareness and inclination directly into my brain without my ever having sought it out.

I have not yet found a brick-and-mortar shop where one can try on and purchase a chest binder in person. As with all online purchases, there is a fair amount of guesswork and chance built into the process. Here is what this process looked like, for me:

I knew nothing of the subject.

I became aware of the subject.

I immediately, and carefully avoiding too much direct thought about the matter, sought consummation with it.

Since that day, the subject has rarely been far from my conscious thoughts. It has felt, alternately and sometimes simultaneously, thrilling, calming to the point of near-stupor, destabilizing, reassuring, necessary, mundane, intrusive, overwhelming, compulsory, and desirable. If any of those feelings sound like something you might like to experience, I can recommend you invest $33 in learning more. If they do not, I encourage you to do something else. I ordered a single binder back in February of 2017. I now own eight, of varying lengths and colors, and I wear one almost every single day. There are various guidelines to binding safely, many of which are available online; if you have never worn one before I recommend familiarizing yourself with some of them first.

I have never thought of myself as a person who disliked wearing bras, or who disliked the way that I looked in shirts. You need not understand yourself as such a person to be interested in wearing a binder, so if that thought is holding you back, or ever has, take heart. I wish I could tell you there was a way to put on a binder that did not require a significant amount of graceless wiggling, but if there is, I don’t know it. Perhaps you will be able to manage a charming sort of shimmy. The magic comes after the gracelessness.

I felt, at thirty years of age, a wholly new feeling about my own appearance.

I cannot promise this will happen for you, but here is what happened for me: I put on a shirt over the binder and I saw a look on my own face I had never seen before. There was joy in it, and amazement, and utter delight. There were other things, too, that I do not yet have words for. I felt, at thirty years of age, a wholly new feeling about my own appearance that I had not known it was possible to experience, and that is worth something, in my opinion. I had no idea a person could feel that way about themselves, much less about the way they looked in clothes! How funny that is. It felt like a compulsion, but it was not. I made a series of choices, and they produced an overwhelming feeling within me. Writing about it now feels like a compulsion, but it is not; it is a choice that I am making, however difficult I may find that to believe.

My brother, when he was sixteen, was tremendously excited at the prospect of getting his driver’s license. For him the rush of being able to drive himself wherever he likes is a thrill that has not diminished with time. He still says, often, that he is just as excited at the prospect of being able to drive every day as he was twelve years ago. Wearing a binder is not the same thing as driving a car, and nine months is not the same as twelve years, but for me it has been like that. The flood of well-being – the incredulousness that something is possible – the constant and pervasive sense of gratitude that I have access to this product, this practice, and this feeling – it has been like that, for me.

The magic comes after the gracelessness.

I cannot recommend other brands at present. I do not currently believe that anyone has successfully donned a chest binder from Underworks; I am convinced that everyone who has made the attempt is still trapped somewhere in their bedrooms, stuck inside of their own shoulders. There are several companies that offer custom-made binders, which I have never tried, although it’s likely that anything tailor-made to one’s own specific measurements is always the best possible choice, regardless of the garment. At a certain point, one must acknowledge that the ideal dressing situation is probably to have a valet and a tailor at one’s disposal, much in the same way that it is probably also better not to bring one’s phone and laptop into bed before trying to fall asleep. But there are certain barriers to living perfectly.

There are things about living in a body in the world that feel inaccessible without quite being impossible; inaccessible in the sense that the gap between fantasy and reality is always present regardless of how one looks, inaccessible in that one often fears the extent, scope, and reach of one’s own desires, inaccessible in the sense that learning more about what one may want does not necessarily translate into being any closer to getting it, or even asking for it, or that there will be anyone to ask it of, inaccessible in the sense that what one wants is not always consistent, recognizable, or even legible, to oneself, much less anyone else.

With that necessary caveat, if you have read through all of this and you would still like to try the gc2b half-tank binder, I recommend ordering it first in gray. Gray best hides stains.