A Male Perspective On Bras

What One Man Learned From Working At Victoria's Secret

Page 2 of 2

Knowing what a bra size meant, however, still didn’t help me with my clueless male customers. I was about to throw in the towel when the missing key to my success was finally discovered. Out of all the things the girls had taught me about bras, they had failed to mention the most important. The method for sizing when a size wasn’t known.

“Wait,” said one of the girls. “No one’s taught you the fruit method, yet?”

“The what?” I said.

“The Fruit Method.”

“No, I don’t... I don’t think so.”

She put her hands on her hips.

“Well, that’s why you’re having so much trouble. The fruit method is what we use when we have men who don’t know their girlfriend’s bra size. It’s simple. You ask them to compare their girlfriend’s boobs to either a lemon, an apple, an orange or a grapefruit, and from that, you can get a rough estimate of their bra size.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I said in disbelief.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “A lemon is a 34A, an apple is a 34B, an orange is a 34C and a grapefruit is a 36C/34D.”

I stared at her in complete awe. As a learning device, the fruit method was essentially perfect, playing to both men’s innate visual and tactile abilities. Combine this with something we can eat, and it makes for a method that we not only understand, but will employ the rest of our lives.

Now I knew what I was doing, and I was finally ready to put some tits in some cups.

Fortunately, opportunity came knocking rather quickly — the next day, to be exact. I was on the floor, putting some bras away, when I found a guy staring at a French maid outfit. I asked him if he needed help finding anything and, much to my surprise, he said he did.

“I’m looking for some panties you can untie,” he said. “You know, kind of like a bikini bottom, but a pantie.”

I told him we didn’t have anything like that, but we did have some great see-through lingerie. He agreed that would do just fine.

“Ok, so do you know her size?” I asked.

“Um,” he scratched his head. “I think she’s a small.”

“No,” I said, “I meant, do you know her bra size?”

He looked me, then turned away slightly, raising both hands in front of him, palms facing out, before cupping them and making a squeezing motion.

“Mmm, about this big,” he said.

It took everything I had no to laugh. He was being completely serious.

“Ok,” I said. “Let’s to do this a little differently. If you were to compare your girlfriend’s breasts to a fruit, what would they be? A lemon, an apple, an orange or a grapefruit?”

He paused, thinking.

“An orange,” he said. “She’s probably an orange.”

I told him this meant she was about a 34C, and he raised his eyebrows, looking at me as if I was some kind of jaw-dropping circus act. “You’re good,” he said. “You’re good.” I thanked him, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. It was the best compliment I've ever received.