Chas-titties

In the past week the internet has gone crazy over the new, ridiculous, bra launched by Japanese lingerie company Ravijour (read: RAVAGE HER).

Bursting onto our screens, and out of our cups, Ravijour’s ‘Love Bra’ promises to revolutionise the over-shoulder-boulder-holder, allowing it to open with blinding speed and ferocity, but only when exposed to your True Love. The plague of young boys (and men) the world over bras are characteristically and notoriously difficult to open, much like our hearts. But now, the wait is over, no longer do we need to wait to process stupid difficult things like emotions and feelings, now we have a simple heart monitor attached to our tits.

That’s right ladies, not only can your breasts tell when it’s raining , but they can also tell when you’re in love, well your left one can, what a time to be alive!!

According to Ravijour The key to true love, is avoiding attention from one of 3 types of guys: The Animal, The Technician, and the Flashy Guy. It’s not made clear who these men are, but I suspect they are the board members of Ravijour. Sadly letching, boozing, money flashing men no longer have access to your body through the miracle of Ravijour, you don’t have to rely on a simple NO, any longer. Don’t worry your pretty little heads girls, Ravijour promises to ‘do anything for women’ (apart from letting them speak for themselves), So let your tits do the talking!!

So how does it work? This amazing mythical and magical bra uses new fangled and totes legit science to monitor changes in your heart rate over time, only bursting open with an explosion of confetti and a sad sound of a party horn, when you’re in the presence of your true love. As we can see from this seriously scientific (sexist) graph below, true love is a) pink and b) consists of flirting and surprise gifts. With a side of VOMIT.

graph

You also don’t have to worry about your jubblies bursting forth once the music gets going and you get your groove on, or have them jump out and escape whilst watching scary films. Which is great because if you were running away from an attacker in a dark alley the last thing you want is your tits to burst forth like Alien from your dress in a declaration of love; finally there are no more blurred lines!

The only question that remains, is what the fuck is the app for? The bra’s information is apparently sent via bluetooth to an app on a phone. But whose phone does it go to? Do you have to unlock the phone to unlock the bra and thus, finally, unlock our hearts? Does the app emit a comical BANG when the bra bursts open and proceeds with a breast inspired fanfare? WHAT DOES THE BAP-APP DO.

Perhaps more seriously what needs to be questioned is the seriously worrying trend in lingerie brands releasing demure and abstinent underwear. Access to our gonads is increasingly becoming puritanical, almost as if Gandalf the Grey released his very own chastity belt with the slogan YOU SHALL NOT PASS…unless you profess your undying love and devotion. Will we be driven to a moment where like Robin Hood and Maid Marion from Men In Tights, our conquests will be forced to drill their way into our love cavern?

chastity
The even darker underside to this heteronormative, prudish, and virginal underwear is it’s contribution to the nasty culture of victim blaming. A few months back, an American start-up company launched their concept of Anti-Rape underwear: panties made with cut and slash resistant fabric, a reinforced skeletal structure around the crotch, and locking mechanisms around the thighs. The aim of the underwear is to delay an attacker, but what it really achieves is adding to the myth that rape occurs because of the action and appearance of the woman (or man I might add) involved.

Just imagine the scene in court:

‘well Your Honor, you see, she wasn’t wearing her anti-rape underwear so she was obviously gagging for it. Plus her tits burst forward as she was apparently struggling to get away from me, so she’s obviously in love with me and insisting on playing hard to get!’

Also the ridiculousness of ARU begs further questions, like how the fuck does one take off their underwear after a few drinks? Imagine tottering into the bathroom stall and attempting to take a piss, but forgetting the combination lock to your own vagina? I don’t know what worries me more, the false idea that attackers will jump at me from behind a bush wearing a big cape (even though statistically rape is committed by someone – with no understanding of the concept of consent – that the victim knows), or pissing myself on a night out.

For now I think I’ll stick to my regular panties and bra, and hope that the force of my voice along with the common decency of men (and women) who have been educated about consent, will be enough to hold back the onslaught of attacks my wonderous body is apparently open to on a daily fucking basis.

-VJ