Bound/Unbound

I always knew I wasn’t exactly keen on having breasts. I didn’t obsess about it, or anything, just preferred that area to look as flat as possible. Although I had some idea that I might like wearing a binder, month after month I put off buying one. It seemed like buying a binder would be making too much of a fuss over a minor inconvenience. Instead, I wore sports bras and wore my men’s clothes a little baggy and in layers, and anxiously looked sideways at my chest in mirrors or store windows when I thought no one was looking.

Once I began asking myself if I might really, truly, rather be a dude (something I spent a long time carefully NOT asking myself, and sometimes wish I’d never asked myself- whole lotta worms in that there can), the first action I took was to order myself a binder. (I got this one, by the way, in case you’re interested). It was an obvious first step because I already dressed as male, and because I knew my wife, Ask, was already okay with it.

(My binder came last Friday. Ask helped me into it. I’ve since learned to put it on unaided, but man, is it a challenge. The trick, I found, not to let the material bunch up while you’re pulling it over your shoulders. This is easier said than done while you’re struggling with all your might to get your arms into the damn thing.)

I figured I’d like binding, but I was not at all prepared for how strongly I responded to it. When I looked at myself flat-chested in the bathroom mirror I wasn’t just pleased, I was downright giddy. My chest looked like a man’s! I looked FANTASTIC! With clothing on, it was even MORE amazing! I was over-the-moon about the difference, and I never wanted to take it off again.

Perhaps the biggest change was that when I look at myself while I’m binding I don’t think I look fat. Not even a little bit. This was a revelation because, before binding, I could never look in a mirror without thinking that I ought to lose some weight and worrying about how fat I was. I always thought I understood the reasons for this- I had a severe eating disorder for many years and, though I considered myself fully recovered, I figured these stray negative thoughts about my weight would always be with me. While I had some idea that my anorexia and bulimia might have had more to do with gender than I or anybody at the time had recognized, I didn’t expect binding to cure a body image problem I’d assumed was permanent. It felt like magic. It still feels like magic. I’m not fat- I just don’t want to have breasts on my body.