Those aren't my boobs. Mine are not so well-dressed. That's some kind of soy-based fair trade thing called a camisette or something...
One totally and completely not-green thing about me: my bras. They were an immediate post-divorce purchase, during the reckless fuck-it-all-use-the-credit-card stage. Which coincided with the I’m-so-lost-just-tell-me-what-to-do stage. Which my friend Sue used to good advantage, ordering me to “go and buy some bras, dammit.” Pretty ones, with padding. It’s likely she’d been thinking it for years, burdened as she is by a supportive but under-supported posse of hippy-ish friends.
I did a google search for organic bras, and found zilch. So, zombie-like, following the order, I went to the outlet mall and duly purchased a bag full of re-entering-the-dating-world-after-age-forty selection of synthetic fabric, sweatshop produced, totally ungreen undergarments. Which are getting pretty frayed just about now, when I’ve regained enough of my mojo to resist the outlet mall.
Fortunately, while my own google skills continue to leave something to be desired in the “organic bra” category, Ask Umbra over at grist.org has come through! I’ll let her explain why you don’t really want to wear the outlet mall version. And despite my usual policy against shilling wares in this space, I’m including this link for a great selection of green intimates, since they seem so elusive, kind of like that prefect relationship. Maybe by next February I'll find the link for that one.
Happy Whatever Day.