There are some countries in which the bra fitting is a rite of passage and a moment to be repeated every decade or so, or after massive changes to one’s body. There are countries in which bras are more lacy, or more practical, or more flexible in sizing and types. Italy is not one of the latter. I confess, in the more than one decade that I have lived in this country, my greatest struggle (ok, that is a hyperbole) has been to get a bra that fits.
The English language is marvelous for its ability to use the same word to mean so many different things. The word ‘fit‘ is highly flexible, and is the topic of this month’s Italy blogging roundtable, in which we female knights will be jamming a word that, thanks to compounds, can bring on thoughts of things fitting, fitting in, getting fit, being mentally fit, and much more… including, in this case, bras.
Bra sizes in Italy are: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. The first size corresponds to a 32 back, and it is assumed that you are a skinny boobless chick if you wear a size one. Now, picture a matrioska – you know, those dolls that get bigger exponentially? As the Italian bra size number increases, so does the cup size. I must conclude that Italian women fill out back and cup at the same time, within perfect ratio. Honestly, I do not know how they wear these bound-to-be ill-fitting bras. I, for one, have never bought one.
Some of the cheaper Italian chain stores (like Intimissimi) boast that they sell a “coppa differenziata”, ie cups with letters, which are combined with those numbers, but there is not a large range of combinations (you might find 2B and 2C, but not 2F). So, if you’re not a matrioska, you need to go to a multi-brand store that carries internationally-made lingerie.
Recently I had an amusing experience attempting to replace an important under-piece for the first time in this country: for over a decade I have managed to only buy these things in Canada, but I haven’t been there in about a year now. On a side street near my office there is what I call an old lady bra store. Overpriced, large-sized items in the window look like they are good and sturdy quality, two ladies at the counter, narry a customer in sight. But with the sales on, I figured why not give the little local store some business.
I shan’t go into more personal details, but after trying various models and brands with the same colour and size characteristics, with a very helpful sales lady who didn’t crack a smile at any of my jokes, I ended up with a German bra. When I told her that I have yet to buy an Italian bra because the standard sizes just don’t work for me, she was not surprised. She said “yes, Italian bras seldom fit foreign women.” Which makes me really wonder how on earth they fit Italian women – who will enlighten me in the comments?
Now, I have a German car (Volkswagen*), German taps (Grohe), and a new German bra. While Italians do many things better, I have been forced to conclude the following: when you want something that is well built and stands up to time (and gravity), buy German.
*The Fiat Panda we had before this broke down irreparably in 5 years.
Italy blogging roundtable
How else has the word “fit” been interpreted by my fellow knights?
- Gloria: “The survival of the fittest (aka living in Italy)” (very clever!)
- Rebecca: “Italy Roundtable: A Fit of Giggles” (oh, I hadn’t thought of that one!)
- Jessica: “If the Title Fits” (I’m curious!)
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