It started as a social experiment. I wanted to see if I could go a whole month without wearing a bra.

See, I hate bras.

There’s a science to getting the fit right. If it’s too tight, the underwires dig into the sides of my breasts and the straps strain to lift them into an idealized, unnatural perkiness. If it’s too loose, it’s just a piece of oddly-shaped fabric hanging on my torso. It just seems so much unnecessary fuss.

Why are these things imposed on us? So that our chests can all have the same Victoria’s Secret-approved shape?

Over spring break, being bra-free was easy because most of my friends had left Orange so I wasn’t doing much socializing anyway. But on the first Monday back to school, I was confronted with strapping the cute, lacy contraption back on. I couldn’t bear it. So I bared it.

I felt self-conscious the whole day. In our newspaper staff meeting, I had to get in front of the whole class and talk about our website, wondering the whole time if my nipples were staring at the writers, if the writers were staring back, if someone would pull me aside to ask, “Uh, did you forget something this morning?”

But no one noticed. It emboldened me. I knew I could do it again.

Only twice since I began this experiment have I worn a bra – both times because I was interviewing an important and sensitive source for a story.

It was necessary to me because a certain dress code is expected of professional interactions. Along with having a bra on, I also made sure to wear slacks instead of my usual jean shorts, and a cardigan to hide my tattoo.

But none of these matter to me in class, on campus or out with my friends. We have the privilege and freedom of being both as comfortable and as expressive in our clothing as we want. With such liberal standards, why aren’t we availing ourselves of this release?

Support, most people have answered. Maybe I’m lucky to have small enough breasts that not wearing a bra doesn’t hurt my back. But I’m a C-cup while the American average is a B, which means that more than half of women could be fine without one too! I think a lot of women think they’ll be uncomfortable hanging loose, but only because they haven’t tried yet. That’s why it took me a decade to finally unclasp myself.

We are trained from such a young age – even before we hit puberty, when our double-A’s are barely distinguishable from little boy’s chests – that we must strap them in. We are obsessed with pushing our breasts up and in, molding our bodies into the coveted perkiness that serves no practical purpose but to sexualize us.

The question is not “Why shouldn’t we keep our breasts perky?” but rather “Why should we?” This boob ideal has been so ingrained into our society that we never even question why this is the only desirable – nay, acceptable – way for breasts to be. Why?

Not wearing a bra did not change my life. I didn’t feel any pride or accomplishment at the end of my first month. I’m not trying to start any bra-burning revolutions. But I continue to live bra-free because it just feels … natural.