Investments

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Two triangles of white cotton. There was a small pink bow between them. A bra for a child to open my account at twelve years old and so I became a girl. Then there was a denim coloured one with a delicate rose in in the middle to make me a tween. My first lace lingerie was fifteen and then there was the red and black balconette and a Wonderbra at sixteen to make me a girlfriend. After that there were Agent Provocateur pieces and boutique brands that made kink adjacent ones that I felt if not good then expensive in like the Whitney and some that were peekaboo such that I became a mistress. Then I became a wife. I went for a Calvin Klein plain and for a while unpadded. Then I moved onto the sports crops in bright colours and greys as I tried to depart the binary. Then came the maternity bras to make me a mother and then the nursing bra that I did not use which made me a bad mother even though I had painful breasts leaking liquid gold. Then came my binder and my tape all of which come at a cost that is difficult to afford in this kind of society and accrues interest comprising lost friendships, rejection and a lack of safety. Now I seek a scalpel to make me a boy and this kind of chest costs 10K. I can’t see how it’s fair, in this economy. Despite all I spent, I still have to pay.

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