If a breath of fresh air was a person, it would be Sonya Renee Taylor. Even via our Zoom call, the poet, best-selling author, and social justice advocate exudes that perfect mix of grace, intellect, and tell-it-like-it-is candor of your favorite auntie or podcast host. Taylor, who started The Body Is Not An Apology movement in 2011 and wrote The New York Timesbest-seller The Body Is Not An Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love in 2018, has used her voice and platform to create a profound safe space, and drive a movement behind being unapologetically yourself as a Black woman and embracing all that comes with that journey.
Sonya has also powerfully taken on the dismantling of systems set up in the U.S. that support body-based oppression and stifle true "radical self-love," stepping beyond shame and so-called societal "norms" of what being a woman supposedly should be and into inner transformation that blossoms divinely. I had a conversation with Taylor that not only blessed my soul—and reaffirmed my own journey toward self-love— about what exactly “radical self-love” means, how concepts of body positivity have evolved—or not—and how we, as Black women, can take back our power to define womanhood on our own terms.
Courtesy of Sonya Renee Taylor
xoNecole: So, you've been a fierce advocate for 'radical' self-love, and your poetry as well as your platform have seen global recognition. You've touched so many people. How did the idea for your platform and book, 'The Body Is Not An Apology,' come about?
Sonya Renee Taylor: From a place of love. I’d asked my friend about her sexual health choices and why she wasn’t using protection with this person that I knew was a casual partner. And my friend responded very honestly–very transparently—and shared that because of her disability–she has cerebral palsy—that she felt it made it difficult already to be sexual so she didn’t feel entitled to ask this person to use a condom.
xoNecole: Oh wow...no!
SRT: And my immediate response—that I’m very clear today, was through me, not of me—I said, "Your body is not an apology. It’s not something you offer someone to say, 'Sorry for my disability.'" And those words resonated. They stuck for me. They felt like I wasn’t just sharing a message with a friend. I also was communicating something that I needed to know too, and you know, at the time I was a poet and so when something particularly compelling showed up, I wrote about it. I was going to write the poem with this refrain, “The body is not an apology.” So I wrote that poem, and I began performing it and sharing it.
I believe that language is always making things manifest, so what we speak over our lives always comes into being—good, bad, or indifferent. And so those words—the words I had written in this poem–started challenging me to look at the places where I was still living like my own body was an apology. In a small way, a few months prior, I’d taken a photo of myself—a selfie in a black corset—and I felt sexy and delicious. I also felt like I didn’t have a right to feel sexy and delicious in this fat, dark-skin body and so I hid the picture away until February 9, 2011.
"I believe that language is always making things manifest, so what we speak over our lives always comes into being—good, bad, or indifferent."
Prompted by someone who posted a photo of a plus-sized model, naked, on my Instagram page, I went and googled her quickly and one of the first ads that came up was with her in a black corset for a lingerie campaign. I just felt inspired. Why am I hiding this thing that I feel good about? What would it look like if I just posted this picture? So I posted it and asked people on Facebook, "Post a picture where you feel beautiful and powerful in your body." The next day about 30 people had tagged me in photos. I was like, ‘Maybe we just need a little space where we’re allowed to affirm ourselves and each other. So maybe I’ll start a little Facebook page and I’ll name it after this poem, and I’ll call it, ‘Your Body Is Not An Apology.’'
So, I started a Facebook page and that was 11 years ago, a New York Times best-seller-ago and a multimedia company ago.
xoNecole: That's amazing! There are a lot of women who feel like they have to dishonor themselves in order to appease a partner sexually. I love that you were that friend. Now tell me this: How has the concept of self-love evolved for you today, considering your success and considering that body positivity and self-love now seem to be trending topics. What have you seen in terms of evolution, if any?
SRT: I think that part of the reason the word ‘radical’ ended up on self-love—when I started this 11 years ago, there were less than one page of hits on the page of ‘radical self-love—it was me and one other person. [Laughs] At the time, I was really talking about body empowerment and how we honor all bodies. What’s happened over time, for me, it’s become very clear that our relationship to self-worth— to our sense of enoughness—filters into every aspect of existence. And not just our existence but everybody’s existence. This thing we think of as this very individual experience that we’re having by ourselves—in how we relate to our body—actually has global, political, and socioeconomic consequences.
‘Radical’ is so important in self-love because I want people to make the connection that I’m talking about a kind of love that changes systems, that I’m talking about a kind of love that transforms policies, that transforms institutions. I’m talking about a kind of love that transforms how we show up in the world, which consequently changes how the world exists. And I have seen, over and over again in my own life, that when I am connected to [and] moving from my own radical self-love, I am looking at how the world has said I’m supposed to experience being this fat, Black, bald, queer, neurodivergent woman—what the world says that’s supposed to mean—versus what I inherently understand what my true self knows about that, which is that each and every aspect of me is divine and that when I buy into what the system has told me to buy into about that, that I reinforce all of those negative aspects of the system.
"It’s become very clear that our relationship to self-worth— to our sense of enoughness—filters into every aspect of existence. And not just our existence but everybody’s existence. This thing we think of as this very individual experience that we’re having by ourselves—in how we relate to our body—actually has global, political, and socioeconomic consequences."
If I listen to what the world says about being a dark-skinned Black woman, I immediately become an agent of anti-Blackness. I immediately become an agent of white supremacist delusion. When I believe what the world tells me about my fat body, I immediately become an agent of fatphobia. And so, all of those systems stand because so many of us have been indoctrinated to be agents for them, knowingly and unknowingly. So, every time I tap into my own radical self-love, I divest from that job I was given, that I didn’t even know I was given, to keep furthering those systems.
And I think that that is where body positivity misses the boat because body positivity has been co-opted and turned into this incredibly apolitical thing. Body positivity was born out of the fat liberation movement of the ‘70s, which was started by queer women, disabled communities, and people of color, and it was co-opted so that white ladies could feel good in their size 14 jeans. That’s cute. I want that for people, I suppose.
I don’t want you to feel terrible about yourself, but how does that impact the wage gap for Black women? How does that stop extra-judicial killing by the police? It doesn’t, and the radical self-love I’m talking about interrupts those systems, interrupts those ideas that there are bodies that are not worthy of resources, opportunity, and life. And so, consequently, we devalue those bodies. [Transforming that system is] what radical self-love does. And to me, that’s an inherently political act.
xoNecole: So let's talk more about redefining 'woman' in that context then. Oftentimes, being a Black woman, we were raised with concepts and issues with our bodies, from our grandmas to our moms to our aunties. For me, I grew up tall and slim, so anything above a size 6 was said to be "fat" in a negative way in my family. How do we as Black women really embrace 'radical' self-love, especially considering some of the things we've been taught about ourselves?
SRT: One of the things I advocate for is that first, we have to understand where those [negative messages] come from. Oftentimes we think that we created them. Like, ‘I have this judgment about myself, this thing that popped up in my head,’ or ‘I have this judgment about myself and the boy in 8th grade gave it to me or my grandmama gave it to me.’ So we have this very centralized focus of responsibility. I encourage people to zoom the lens out and to understand that it’s an individual experience they’re having inside of a larger context of systems and structures. Your grandmother got the message that ‘fat’ was bad. Where did she get that message from?
She got it from a campaign that started in the 19th century, the late 1800s, right after the abolition of slavery, where white people needed to figure out new ways to reconstruct their power. They needed to figure out ways to reaffirm their superiority. Dieting and control of the body became that new way. And we know about this because, in the book Fearing the Black Body by Sophia Strings, she talks about the historical and racial origins of fatphobia. So that wasn’t an idea your grandma just came up with. It was an idea inside a larger system—a system we call white supremacy, inside of what I call white supremacist delusion. I don’t want to get it twisted. Inside of that system is another doll—that doll is called fatphobia. And then, inside of that system, there are communities who pass on, and become unwitting agents of that system because they’ve been told these messages.
If you can get [to] that larger level, you can recognize that these ideas are not my ideas. They are the ideas of a larger system that’s designed to control me and manipulate me, that’s designed to further marginalize and oppress me. I don’t want to be an agent of that. So, then what do I do? I start raising the consciousness and I start taking new action based off of that awareness. “Well, this is what I used to do, based on that indoctrination. What can I do now? Well, maybe I could make a little money jar, and every time I say something fatphobic about myself, I put a little something in there.” That’s my reminder to invest in myself and divest from that system.
There are small little activities we can do to help interrupt old patterns—those old stories of womanhood that often come out of those systems, but it’s important to recognize that it was the system that told us that. It’s not our authentic self. Authentic self understands our inherent worthiness.
xoNecole: A lot of us look in the mirror and see those delusions. I've never outlived the negative feelings of my Granny calling me "fat" when I gained any amount of weight. It makes you feel like you're not enough. It's taken me decades to undo the effects of that, with therapy as well. Are you an advocate of therapy as a resource to tap into that 'radical' self-love?
SRT: Absolutely. I'm a wildly unapologetic advocate of therapy. My therapist is my longest relationship. We’ve been together for 10 years. So one of the things I think particularly Black women need to give themselves permission to do is to invest in ourselves. We’ve been so conditioned to take care of everybody else—to take care of everybody else’s well-being, to look out for everyone else. And what I am a profound advocate of is that it’s of no use to anyone to give from a dwindling cup.
What I give from is my overflow and I give from my overflow for two reasons: One, what’s in my cup belongs to me. That’s how I sustain myself. So what you give is more vibrant and more beautiful from overflow. And two, I am not doing anyone any favors—I’m not actually offering the world a real gift to, like, have my backwash or the dribble at the bottom of my cup. I make sure that my cup is full first so that whatever it is I’m giving is a generous and joyful gift to the world and that, to me, relates to therapy or whatever healing modalities that we decide to undertake.
"What I give from is my overflow and I give from my overflow for two reasons: One, what’s in my cup belongs to me. That’s how I sustain myself. So what you give is more vibrant and more beautiful from overflow. And two, I am not doing anyone any favors—I’m not actually offering the world a real gift to, like, have my backwash or the dribble at the bottom of my cup. I make sure that my cup is full first so that whatever it is I’m giving is a generous and joyful gift to the world and that, to me, relates to therapy or whatever healing modalities that we decide to undertake."
First, let me learn to take good, good, good, good, good care of me. Because, one, so that I can give a fantastic instruction guide for whoever else shows up and says they want to do the job, and, two, so that when I’m offering something to the world, it never has the bitter taste of resentment and it never has the flavorlessness of exhaustion. It doesn’t have any of those qualities because it’s so full of what it is that I, first, offer myself.
Find out more about Sonya Renee Taylor and The Body Is Not An Apology via her Instagram or website.
Featured image courtesy of Sonya Renee Taylor
Amber Riley has the type of laugh that sticks with you long after the raspy, rhythmic sounds have ceased. It punctuates her sentences sometimes, whether she’s giving a chuckle to denote the serious nature of something she just said or throwing her head back in rip-roarious laughter after a joke. She laughs as if she understands the fragility of each minute. She chooses laughter often with the understanding that future joy is not guaranteed.
Credit: Ally Green
The sound of her laughter is rivaled only by her singing voice, an emblem of the past and the future resilience of Black women stretched over a few octaves. On Fox’s Glee, her character Mercedes Jones was portrayed, perhaps unfairly, as the vocal duel to Rachel Berry (Lea Michele), offering rough, full-throated belts behind her co-star’s smooth, pristine vocals. Riley’s always been more than the singer who could deliver a finishing note, though.
Portraying Effie White, she displayed the dynamic emotions of a song such as “And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going” in Dreamgirls on London’s West End without buckling under the historic weight of her predecessors. With her instrument, John Mayer’s “Gravity” became a religious experience, a belted hymnal full of growls and churchy riffs. In her voice, Nicole Scherzinger once said she heard “the power of God.”
Credit: Ally Green
Riley’s voice has been a staple throughout pop culture for nearly 15 years now. Her tone has become so distinguishable that most viewers of Fox’s The Masked Singer recognized the multihyphenate even before it was revealed that she was Harp, the competition-winning, gold-masked figure with an actual harp strapped to her back.
Still, it wasn’t until recently that Riley began to feel like she’d found her voice. This sounds unbelievable. But she’s not referring to the one she uses on stage. She’s referencing the voice that speaks to who she is at her core. “Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind,” the 37-year-old says. “It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women. I got so comfortable in [doing so], and I really want other people, especially Black women, to get more comfortable in that space.”
“Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind. It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women."
If you ask Riley’s manager, Myisha Brooks, she’ll tell you the foundation of who the multihyphenate is hasn’t changed much since she was a kid growing up in Compton. “She is who she is from when I met her back when she was singing in the front of the church to back when she landed major roles in film and TV,” Brooks says. Time has allowed Riley to grow more comfortable, giving fans a more intimate glimpse into her life, including her mental health journey and the ins and outs of show business.
The actress/singer has been in therapy since 2019, although she suffered from depression and anxiety way before that. In a recent interview with Jason Lee, she recalls having suicidal ideation as a kid. By the time she started seeing a psychologist and taking antidepressants in her thirties, her body had become jittery, a physical reminder of the trauma stacked high inside her. “I was shaking in [my therapist’s] office,” she tells xoNecole. “My fight or flight was on such a high level. I was constantly in survival mode. My heart was beating fast all the time. All I did was sweat.”
There wasn’t just childhood trauma to account for. After auditioning for American Idol and being turned away by producers, Riley began working for Ikea and nearly missed her Glee audition because her car broke down on the highway while en route. Thankfully, Riley had been cast to play Mercedes Jones. American Idol had temporarily convinced her she wasn’t cut out for the entertainment industry, but this was validation that she was right where she belonged. Glee launched in 2009 with the promise of becoming Riley’s big break.
In some ways, it was. The show introduced Riley to millions of fans and catapulted her into major Hollywood circles. But in other ways, it became a reminder of the types of roles Black women, especially those who are plus-sized, are relegated to. Behind the scenes, Riley says she fought for her character "to have a voice" but eventually realized her efforts were useless. "It finally got to a point where I was like, this is not my moment. I'm not who they're choosing, and this is just going to have to be a job for me for now," she says. "And, that's okay because it pays my bills, I still get to be on television, I'm doing more than any other Black plus-sized women that I'm seeing right now on screen."
The actress can recognize now that she was navigating issues associated with trauma and low self-esteem at the time. She now knows that she's long had anxiety and depression and can recognize the ways in which she was triggered by how the cult-like following of the show conflicted with her individual, isolated experiences behind the scenes. But she was in her early '20s back then. She didn't yet have the language or the tools to process how she was feeling.
Riley says she eventually sought out medical intervention. "When you're in Hollywood, and you go to a doctor, they give you pills," she says, sharing a part of her story that she'd never revealed publicly before now. "[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that's not fixing my problem. If anything, it's making it worse."
“[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that’s not fixing my problem. If anything it’s making it worse.”
Credit: Ally Green
At one point, while in her dressing room on set, she rested her arm on a curling iron without realizing it. It wasn't until her makeup artist alerted her that she even realized her skin was burning. Once she noticed, she says she was "so zonked out on pills" that she barely reacted. Speaking today, she holds up her arm and motions towards a scar that remains from the incident. She sought help for her reliance on the pills, but it would still be years before she finally attended therapy.
This stress was only compounded by the trauma of growing up in poverty and the realities of being a "contract worker." "Imagine going from literally one week having to borrow a car to get to set to the next week being on a private jet to New York City," she says. After Glee ended, so did the rides on private planes. The fury of opportunities she expected to follow her appearance on the show failed to materialize. She wasn't even 30 yet, and she was already forced to consider if she'd hit her career peak.
. . .
We’re only four minutes into our Zoom call before Riley delivers her new adage to me. “My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway,” she says.
On this Thursday afternoon in April, the LA-based entertainer is seated inside her closet/dressing room wearing a cerulean blue tank top with matching shorts and eating hot wings. This current phase of healing hinges on balance. It’s about having discipline and consistency, but not at the risk of inflexibility. She was planning to head to the gym, for instance, but she’s still tired from the “exhausting” day before. Instead, she’s spent her day receiving a massage, eating some chicken wings, and planning to spend quality time with friends. “I’m not going to beat myself up for it. I’m not going to talk down to myself. I’m going to eat my chicken wings, and then tomorrow I’m [back] in the gym,” she says.
“My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway."
This is the balance with which she's been approaching much of her life these days. It's why she's worried less about whether or not people see her as someone who is humble. She'd rather be respected. "I think you should be a person that's easy to work with, but in the moments where I have to ruffle feathers and make waves, I'm not shying away from that anymore. You can do it in love, you don't have to be nasty about it, but I had to finally be comfortable with the fact that setting boundaries around my life – in whatever aspect, whether that's personal or business – people are not going to like it. Some people are not going to have nice things to say about you, and you gotta be okay with it," she says.
When Amber talks about the constant humbling of Black women in Hollywood, I think of the entertainers before her who have suffered from this. The brilliant, consistent, overqualified Black women who have spoken of having to fight for opportunities and fair pay. Aretha Franklin. Viola Davis. Tracee Ellis Ross. There's a long list of stars whose success hasn't mirrored their experiences behind the scenes.
Credit: Ally Green
If Black women outside of Hollywood are struggling to decrease the pay gap, so, too, are their wealthier, more famous peers.
Riley says there’s been progress in recent years, but only in small ways and for a limited group of people. “This business is exhausting. The goalpost is constantly moving, and sometimes it’s unfair,” she says. But, I have to say it’s the love that keeps you going.”
“There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman,” she continues. “We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
"There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman. We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
Last year, Riley starred alongside Raven Goodwin in the Lifetime thriller Single Black Female (a modern, diversified take on 1992’s Single White Female). It was more than a leading role for the actress, it also served as proof that someone who looks like her can front a successful project without it hinging on her identity. It showcased that the characters she portrays don’t “have to be about being a big girl. It can just be a regular story.”
Riley sees her work in music as an extension of her efforts to push past the rigid stereotypes in entertainment. Take her appearance on The Masked Singer, for instance. Riley said she decided to perform Mayer’s “Gravity” after being told she couldn’t sing it years earlier. “I wanted to do ‘Gravity’ on Glee. [I] was told no, because that’s not a song that Mercedes would do,” she says. “That was a full circle moment for me, doing that on that show and to hear what it is they had to say.”
As Scherzinger praised the “anointed” performance, a masked Riley began to cry, her chest heaving as she stood on stage, her eyes shielded from view. “You have to understand, I have really big names – casting directors, producers, show creators – that constantly tell me ‘I’m such a big fan. Your talent is unmatched.’ Hire me, then,” she says, reflecting on the moment.
Recently, she’s been in the studio working on original music, the follow-up to her independently-released debut EP, 2020’s Riley. The sequel to songs such as the anthemic “Big Girl Energy” and the reflective ballad “A Moment” on Riley, this new project hones in on the singer’s R&B roots with sensual grooves such as the tentatively titled “All Night.” “You said I wasn’t shit, turns out that I’m the shit. Then you called me a bitch, turns out that I’m that bitch. You said no one would want me, well you should call your homies,” she sings on the tentatively titled “Lately,” a cut about reflecting on a past relationship. From the forthcoming project, xoNecole received five potential tracks. Fans likely already know the strengths and contours of Riley’s vocals, but these new songs are her strongest, most confident offerings as an artist.
“I am so much more comfortable as a writer, and I know who I am as an artist now. I’m evolving as a human being, in general, so I’m way more vulnerable in my music. I’m way more willing to talk about whatever is on my mind. I don’t stop myself from saying what it is I want to say,” she says.
Credit: Ally Green
“Every era and alliteration of Amber, the baseline is ‘Big Girl Energy.’ That’s the name of her company,” her manager Brooks says, referencing the imprint through which Riley releases her music after getting out of a label deal several years ago. “It’s just what she stands for. She’s not just talking about size, it’s in all things. Whether it’s putting your big girl pants on and having to face a boardroom full of executives or sell yourself in front of a casting agent. It’s her trying to achieve the things she wants to do in life.”
Riley says she has big dreams beyond releasing this new music, too. She’d love to star in a rom-com with Winston Duke. She hasn't starred in a biopic yet, but she’d revel in the opportunity to portray Rosetta Tharpe on screen. She’s determined that her previous setbacks won’t stop her from dreaming big.
“I think one of my superpowers is resilience because, at the end of the day, I’m going to kick, scream, cry, cuss, be mad and disappointed, but I’m going to get up and risk having to deal with it all again. It’s worth it for the happy moments,” she says.
If Riley seems more comfortable and confident professionally, it’s because of the work she’s been doing in her personal life.
She’d previously spoken to xoNecole about becoming engaged to a man she discovered in a post on the site, but she called things off last year. For Valentine’s Day, she revealed her new boyfriend publicly. “I decided to post him on Valentine’s Day, partially because I was in the dog house. I got in trouble with him,” she says, half-joking before turning serious. “The breakup was never going to stop me from finding love. Or at least trying. I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness, and you enjoy it and work through it.”
Credit: Ally Green
"I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness and you enjoy it and work through it.”
With her ex, Riley was pretty outspoken about her relationship, even appearing in content for Netflix with him. This time around is different. She’s not hiding her boyfriend of eight months, but she’s more protective of him, especially because he’s a father and isn’t interested in becoming a public figure.
She’s traveling more, too. It’s a deliberate effort on her part to enjoy her money and reject the trauma she’s developed after experiencing poverty in her childhood. “I live in constant fear of being broke. I don’t think you ever don’t remember that trauma or move past that. Now I travel and I’m like, listen, if it goes, it goes. I’m not saying [to] be reckless, but I deserve to enjoy my hard work.”
After everything she’s been through, she certainly deserves to finally let loose a bit. “I have to have a life to live,” she says. “I’ve got to have a life worth fighting for.”
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The relationship that most women have with their bras is… well, complicated. While society has led us to believe that they’re required for us to be deemed as “ladylike” and “neat,” many of us find the garment to be a bothersome (and optional) accessory at best.
From underwires that poke and dig at our sides to push-ups that spill over, the argument in support of bras has begun to wane over the last few decades, with women of all cup sizes asking themselves if it’s better to just go braless.
Courtesy of Harper Wilde
“Many years ago, I ditched wired bras and opted for going braless out of a desire for freedom and celebrating natural human form,” multi-hyphenate Alyson Stoner tells xoNecole. The movement activist best known for their fly dance moves with the likes of Missy Elliott and on Step Up 2: The Streets, shares that when it comes to their bra selection, comfort is key. “As someone who enjoys moving their body, I found that I do want an underlayer that provides some support without interfering with comfort and mobility.”
A source of concern when choosing to go braless is whether or not the lack of support from a bra will, in turn, affect the firmness of one’s breast, resulting in early sagging. However, Sabrina Sahni, M.D., an oncologist at Mayo Clinic in Florida, shares that breast sagging is a result of age, not whether you’ve ditched your bras.
“Sagging breasts – also called ptosis – generally occurs due to chronic aging,” she tells xoNecole. “The breast is made up of a combination of glandular and fibrous tissue and fat tissue. Over time, the glandular tissue may become replaced with fattier tissue, and that can lead to more sagging. Wearing a bra or not wearing a bra ultimately does not change that.”
"Wearing a bra or not wearing a bra ultimately does not change that."
Women with heavier breasts may find that going braless may have its set of drawbacks, but Dr. Sahni says that you should always pay attention to your comfort levels since bras are a garment designed to support your back and correct your posture. “Those with heavier or larger breasts who choose to go braless may actually have worsening back/neck/shoulder pain,” she says. “Wearing a bra may allow them to correct their posture and help alleviate tension on those muscle groups.”
“Women with larger breasts may benefit from wearing a well-fitted, supportive bra as it may alleviate things like upper back pain or neck pain,” she shares.
Listening to your body is key when choosing whether you want to toss out your bras forever or just for a day. The beauty in a woman’s body is that it will tell us what we need to know before we even have to ask. There are common misconceptions about tighter bras being linked to causing health issues like breast cancer.
And while studies do show that Black women are “twice as likely to be diagnosed with breast cancer early when compared with Caucasian women,” the manifestation of this disease is predetermined by other varying factors.
“There are a lot of myths out there about going braless being better for breast cancer risk. It is completely false,” Dr. Sahni explains. “Whether or not you wear a bra does not have any bearing on your overall breast cancer risk. Ultimately, your risk is dependent on a variety of factors, including family history, your breast density, your lifestyle, and your reproductive history.”
If you’re looking for classic, weightless comfort that’s close to going braless, Alyson Stoner recommends Harper Wilde, a body-inclusive intimates brand on a mission to create a more comfortable world for womankind. They currently have a capsule collection with the intimates brand in partnership with their company, Movement Genius.
“Harper Wilde has been my go-to for years now because the materials are truly soothing on my sensitive skin, the amount of support feels like you're being gently hugged (not squeezed), and the styles are flattering and beautiful enough to wear as shirts or visible layers,” they say.
Courtesy of Harper Wilde
The brand offers super soft, breathable cotton fabric in their Triangle and Scoop Bralettes ($40 each) that will put the bliss and comfort back in your bosom.
Dr. Sahni says that choosing to opt out of bras or keep them close to your chest “truly depends on the individual” but it should be understood that “wearing or not wearing a bra won't significantly impact your overall health.”
“Ultimately, it comes down to comfort. There are some women with chronic breast pain where perhaps changing their bras to something more supportive and well-fitted may help,” she says. “Alternatively, some women find that going bra-less will alleviate their breast pain. I tell women that they should choose a bra that is comfortable for them, feels supportive, and one that they can wear regularly.”
So whether you choose to free the tatas or wear a bra that feels like it’s barely there, remember to listen to your body because ultimately, the choice is yours.
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