Going Braless In Belize
Not a bad place to do it.
Take It To Go is a travel newsletter in which destinations are B-plots, lenses through which I explore fashion, beauty, and identity. Every month (or so) I’ll pick a different location to be the anchor for a series of features on varying topics; one week you might get a personal essay, the next could be a niche shopping guide. This August I’m diving into my recent visits to Belize and Guatemala.
This is a tale about my boobs and Belize. But to fully explain how one relates to the other (beyond like… alliteration), I need to give some backstory. A hero’s journey, if you will, of seventh grade Alison and a pair of breasts she didn’t know how to handle.
When that area began growing (and growing, and growing), I neither understood—nor had desire to wield—the power that comes with having big, um, you know. The popular teenage fashion of the moment was all about strappy camisoles and halters, and the coolest girls in my class would flaunt cute little dELiA*s tops over their flat chests without a bra. An era of “yoga boobs” before that was even a thing; a time when teeny titties = skinny… and skinny = beauty and social cachet. Kate Moss was still considered about the highest visual standard one could hold themselves to, which is impossible for most anyone to meet, let alone a self-conscious 13-year-old girl suddenly faced with a fresh set of Ds.
My mother dutifully took me to the lingerie section of our local JC Penney, where I was quasi-helped by a glum woman about four times my age. As I recall, my mom addressed this sudden change in my curvature as something of an inconvenient cross I would have to bear my whole life: how she had always had large breasts, and her grandmother had before her. The gist was they were something that needed to be constantly managed and would only become more unwieldy with age.
All of this made me want to shove my face in a pillow and scream until I was hoarse. Instead, I came up with a system of sartorial resistance: a sad (and ill-fitted) underwire situation on first, an immovable sports bra over that. I could not wear much more than slightly loose T-shirts over this combination without looking insane, but it made my torso appear tight and smooth. Once I got used to the squeezing sensation I felt around my upper midsection, I could move through the world with the same unbothered ease I had just a few mere years before. This is something I covertly kept doing well through high school.
It is not, however, a practice that’s carried into my adulthood. Over the last few decades, I’ve (mostly) come to peace with, and even love, my boobs. They are certainly not perfect, but do look bonkers good in a push-up bra. It helps that I work in fashion, and have insider access to top lingerie brands and experts who can explain all the fit mistakes I was making as a teenager (turns out a tighter band and bigger cup is a game changer). But the one thing that’s been hard for me to shake is the nagging urge to have some form of chest support at all times. A bra to me is akin to Dumbo’s magic feather: a logic-free source of mental security. For years I’ve even worn them to bed, albeit only very soft and stretchy designs.
But New York City’s warm season has grown increasingly hotter as of late—and, to be frank, so has the way I feel in my skin. Although my teen years ended half my lifetime ago, I’m more confident in a barely-there top than I’ve ever been before. So I started doing something this summer that I’ve held as a strict taboo against since roughly 1999: skipping a bra altogether. Do I really need a fitted bandeau under a tube top to look good? Turns out the honest answer is no. (Although a few well-placed pieces of nipple tape are advisable in an air conditioned coffee shop.) Must I fuss with finding the right underpinnings for a racerback tank? Not if the fabric is tight enough to generally hold everything in place.
Every time I take this au natural route, I relish the thrill of flouting some sort of unspoken rule, and a sense of liberation from my tightly wound younger self. I used to set so many restrictions around how I must move through the world. Most are so firmly calcified in my brain that I forget to question them.
Which brings me back to Belize. As I found myself packing for this Central American country with smoldering temperatures a few weeks ago, I filled my suitcase with lots of silly little slip dresses and an arsenal of thin, stretchy, skin-baring tops I’d like to categorize as “Spring Breakerzzz chic.” (Wheeeeee! So fun.) Midway through I realized I did not actually need real bras for any of it.
Was I actually going to leave New York for nine days without bringing along a single over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder? The idea sent a chill of tempting rebellion down my spine. I threw a sad beige T-shirt bra on top of my pile of clothes and put it away again, only to pull it out one more time. I gulped, shoved it back in my underwear drawer, and tucked a roll of boob tape and scissors in a suitcase side pocket. And wow, all that sounds so overly dramatic as I type it out! But it really was a big step for me.
It also was a game-changer for my outfits. There's a true ease that comes with getting dressed sans the constraints and considerations of wearing a bra: Is it hidden? And if it’s not, does it look good with the look? Is it going to pinch and distract me mid-conversation at dinner? It also allowed me to get a little more experimental with my travel wardrobe, as the kind of flimsy, flirty pieces that beg to be worn braless require some extra styling know-how to come off as sophisticated and intentional. But if you can pull it off with an effortless mood to match, the effect is magnetically cool.
To wit, below I present you with five brassiere-free outfits I wore in Belize that allowed me to embody the most fun-loving, carefree version of myself. This is the mindset I most wanted to inhabit while making my way through a beach- and rainforest-laden paradise. Because if you can’t be that person while drinking water from an actual coconut by the ocean, where can you?
Boats Cool
Halfdays tank top, DISSH skort, Selima Optique sunglasses, v. old A.P.C. belt (similar here), and Chloé sandals (similar here)
I originally procured this streamlined black tank for a safari in Botswana, but it’s proven to be one of the most versatile pieces I own—both for travel and at home. As the fabric is super compressive, there’s no need at all to layer anything underneath. Meanwhile, the ever-so-slightly cropped cut hits that sweet spot right above every waist band. I like how it looks vaguely nautical with a white skort here, but I added playful raffia platforms to keep the motif from reading cliché.
Bikini Kills
Monday Swimwear bikini top and bottom, Planet Nusa shorts, Cubitts bespoke sunglasses, Prada sandals
I suppose, technically, wearing your bikini top as a shirt is kind of like wearing a bra—but isn’t the vibe so much more fun and sexy? Instead of a more traditional cover-up, I was really into the noughties sk8r boi mood that relaxed boxers and a yellow-tinted sunglasses brought. If I was wearing this combination with an actual shirt, though, I would probably do this white tank from Aritzia (which I can report has a thick and tight material that works well without a bra).
Taking The Tube
Rat Boi tube top, AGOLDE shorts, same belt, sunglasses, and sandals as previously pictured
Because tube tops are inherently fitted to stay in place without straps, most are kind of like bras in and of themselves. I liked subverting the girlier aspects of this particular one with extra-baggy shorts and mega-platform sandals. Something I love about this outfit is that I’d wear the same exact thing in New York, but with way more jewelry and stiletto heels. I’m a big believer that if you buy clothes that feel true to you they’ll easily adapt to multiple travel situations (versus buying a totally new wardrobe for every trip).
Belize Barbie
SVNR dress (similar here), Inez mules, vintage earrings (from Greece!)
Someone told me this whole get-up made me look like Jennifer Garner in the “Thriller” dance scene from 13 Going On 30 (which, in my book is the ultimate compliment). One surefire similarity? I’m pretty sure Jenn wasn’t wearing any undergarments under her dress, and I wasn’t with mine either. I did mess around with some boob tape while getting ready and ultimately decided to embrace the style’s sensuality and just let things fly free. Liberating!
Halt(er) Right There
Rat Boi halter top, Citizens of Humanity shorts, same belt and shoes as pictured above
Oh look: documented evidence that when kindly offered the same villa that Francis Ford Coppola stays in, I cannot resist taking shameless selfies on every possible surface. But I was feeling the room, feeling the halter top (which is double lined specifically to make eschewing undergarments easier), and feeling my skin after a glow-inducing Monastery facial. Plus I had about three hours to kill before leaving for my flight home.