Cleavage and cupcakes. What self-respecting parader of boobage and sweet tooth can resist an event like that? It was held at an undergarment store called Intimacy, at 900 N. Michigan Ave. The store refers to itself as “The Bra-Fit Specialists–Changing Women’s Lives.”
Can a bra really change a life? I’m gonna take a leap and guess that no, it cannot (the overused term “first-world problem” springs to mind). But admittedly, I did not get fitted at the event. Instead, I consumed things–i.e. delicious marshmallow cupcakes from Swirlz and Prosecco–that will ultimately go to the boobs, or somewhere nearby, as I avoided being poked, prodded and bound by expensive lace. I did note that the store had cups up to “K.” Have another cupcake, girls.
The event, which was actually kind of a non-event, brought to mind a similar party I went to in Vegas, a party that had an oh-so-Vegas edge to it. It was held in a cosmetic surgeon’s office. Champagne and cupcakes were served here, too, but I couldn’t bear to consume those with the liposuction machines in such close proximity.
This was a party that was just directed at the women journalists in town, and we were each offered a treatment (I had a facial). So most of us knew each other. And as we stood around, catching up on gossip and discussing cupcakes and calories and the like, we tossed around silicon pouches that were on display in a large basket. They came in all shapes in sizes. These, my friends, were fake boobs, and easily hitting “K” territory.
The difference between Chicago and Vegas? Chicago has parties celebrating things that cover boobs. Vegas has parties celebrating how to make them bigger with just a few twists of the knife.