My Obsession with Breasts

My fascination with the female breasts at first glance is no different from any male adult of all ages. I know most men cannot get enough of it because of the most superficial of reasons. John Steinback once commented, “A visitor of another species might judge that the seat of procreation lay in the mammaries.” The seduction is obvious and any true blooded man not the least pleasantly distracted by the sight of those pendulous, bouncing and soft bosoms must have their contact lenses recalibrated.
 


Even on a subconscious level, without consciously making it conspicuous, the female breast still turn heads. Social experiments were carried out to show that waitresses with larger breasts generally get bigger tips. In another experiment, female subjects were made to pad up their chest to the equivalent of bra-sizes A-cup to C-cup. Thereafter, they were put in different scenarios to test whether size matters. One of the scenarios was in a dance hall with the usual social mix of males and females. The subjects were asked not to make eye contact with the young men. As the night proceeded, the one spotting size A-cup was asked to dance thirteen times. The one with B-cup was asked nineteen times and the one with C-cup garnered fourty four requests. Maybe it was an exceptionally horny night?
 


The other scenario was that of hitchhiking. The lady wearing size A-cup managed to get the attention of fifteen men. When the bust size was increased to B-cup, twenty men stopped their cars. And finally, the grand size of C-cup had twenty four men stepping on the brakes. This attraction or distraction depending on your level of piousness was given a closer examination when a young anthropologist by the name of Barnaby used an eye-tracking machine to monitor the part of the female body that drew the most male attention. When volunteers were placed on the machine and made to watch images of ladies with varying bust sizes, Barnaby noted the following about the volunteers,  “He starts at the breasts, then looks at the face, then pubic region, midriff, face, breasts, face, breasts. Each time the eye rests longer on the breasts.” So, the writing is clearly on the wall. Breasts impressed, whether we are interested or not.
 


In fact, this fascination with the breasts has recently reached bizzare proportions. A local male security guard by the name of Kurt (27 years old) had in April 2013 undergone an operation in Thailand to grow breasts. He spent S$4,100.00 for the procedure to increase his chest to size C-cup. He then uploaded his new breast implants on the net with 10,000 views. Kurt told the papers that “his flat chest gave him low confidence.” He further commented, “Ever since I was a kid, I have always imagined what it would like one day if I had breasts.” What is most eye-popping in the interview for me was his ambitious plans for his chest next year. He said, “I intend to go back in a year to increase my bust size to a G-cup. I don’t just want to have breasts. I want to have big breasts.”  Wow, in kurt's case, size not only matters, it deeply unsettles.
 


I think this is the part of the letter that I come clean with my intention about my obsession with the anatomical twin peaks. This obsession is not so much with the breasts per se. Neither with the size. But it is with its amazing purpose from an evolutionary point of view. Ever wonder why women have those hard-to-resist double knockers? Most scientists will tell you that it is a prelude to sexual reproduction. They will tell you that nature has singled out breasts as a sexual signal to attract the opposite sex to reproduce. This is to ensure the survival and propagation of our species.

In a male-dominated world, this borders on being chauvinistic. Desmond Morris wrote, “Human developed large rounded and firm breasts as a way to shift the male interests towards the front and encourage face-to-face bonding.”  Well, if it is as simple and straightforward as that, I would have left it at that and retire my pen for good. But in this case, I think there is more than meets the roving eye.
 


Recently I bought a book entitled Breast by a whimsical author Florence Williams and the book changed how I view breasts completely. My respect for them in fact grew by leaps and bounce (pun intended). From an evolutionary standpoint, breasts came about by a lucky break. After the great extinction 250 million years ago, possibly caused by a meteor clashing onto the earth, few creatures survived. Amongst those who survived were primarily mammalian-like with what seemed like kangaroo pouches acting as incubators for their eggs or hatchlings. Imagine Australian kangaroos hopping around with their young ones in their front pouches.
 


However, here's the catch. These eggs had leathery shells which were porous and they lost moisture fast. This is bad news for the mothers since a drying spot is a breeding ground for harmful bacteria. To fight this external threat, the maternal skin gland in the pouch evolved to secrete out protective antibodies like lysol. With this instinctual development, it doesn't take long for this secreted fluid to become nutrients for the baby. And therein lies the evolution of the breasts or mammalian glands and the origin of the human milk. I know there are still gaps in this theory but it provides the most credible explanation todate.
 


So, I am halfway through my journey to extol the often unseen virtues of the breasts as opposed to the often exposed aspects of them. And here comes the magical second part: the talking breast.
 


I have three children. The youngest is only 2 plus. And if men have a fascination with breasts, for whatever lamest reasons, my youngest daughter Joy cannot live without them. Hers is an obsession both with the milk it produces and the feel it induces. Joy chugs down breast milk like a drunken Irish would binge on a full barrel of beer. And whilst at it, she would reach out for the idling other for a firm grip; thereby giving the illusion that she's pumping it up for more. As I stood by, disgruntled and deprived, and watch her inconsiderate monopoly of the mammaries, my mind wondered about the sustenanace coming out from those twin barrels of diary farm. This is where Williams' wonderful book filled in the gap for me.
 


Human milk is a wonder of nature. It adapts and produces well-timed and well-mixed nutrients that food scientists are now trying to synthesize in the lab to be added in infants' food. Here's how good breast milk is. If babies were breastfed for six months, one in five childhood deaths could be prevented. No joke. And human milk is ideal for fighting infection. It is also effective in inhibiting the transmission of, ready for this, HIV. You see, the cells in breast milk are macrophage (white blood cells), which "disables viruses, fungi and bacteria." In addition, the milk contains ingredients with funny names like oligosaccharides and lactoferrin compound, found in tears and saliva, and they have antioxidant and anti-infection properties. Lastly, it comes as a pleasant surprise that babies who are fed breast milk don't have poop that stinks to high heavens. Now, enough of dirty talk.
 


In the book, Williams also wrote about the drawbacks of breast milk due to environmental degradation and the mother's diet. You'll have to read those chapters for a more balanced view of things. However, considering all things, human milk still triumphs over formula milk at the moment. And my point here is to extol the wonders of the breast and everything that revolves around it, milk and all. In other words, I am trying to redirect our focus on them away from the fleshly and superficial. This brings me to the talking breast I mentioned earlier and I am definitely not talking about physical seduction. It is in fact a work of inner beauty often hidden from the general view.

Do you know that the breast is able to detect the sex of the infant even during pregnancy? There are hormones (placental lactogens) that tell the breast the sexual identity of the baby in the womb. The aim of this is to allow the breast to "build up the structure it will need for making milk" in readiness for birth. Basically, the nutritional needs of boys and girls differ and the breast requires advance notice of this to pump herself up for it.
 
In addition, once the baby is born, the breast is able to regulate the baby's appetites.

Here's how it works. To entice the baby to drink, the breast releases a cannabis-like compound (endocannabinoids) to get the baby "hooked". Then, to prevent the baby from gorging too much and get overfed, the breast will stop the feeding by giving appropriate and timely feedback to the mother. The breast also communicates with the cells in the bone to direct the bone to produce just the right amount of calcium for the baby. Fat chance of formula milk ever doing those utterly impressive "middleman functions" methinks. And mind you, this is not all that the breast does.
 


According to the book, when the breast detects an infection brewing in the baby, she signals the immune system to increase the production of lactoferrin and other relevant antibodies in the milk. It kind of reminds me of a mobile Florence Nightingale working on double shifts. If the baby is born prematurely, the amazing breast will play her usual anticipatory role to up the content of "protein and caloric density for a tiny tummy." Finally, the breast will monitor the age of the baby and when the baby hits one year old, the milk will contain "more fat and cholesterol to match the baby's energy needs." Wow, honestly, I now have more reasons to look at the breasts (I mean my wife's of course) with unreserved admiration.
 


Imagine the unspoken complexity of those life-sustaining frontline twin nurturers. Isn't it now plainfully obvious that we, men or women alike, cannot live without the breasts? Isn't this the main reason why breasts evolve over time and not because it is to serve as some sexual entrapment for reproduction, which of course is no less important but is secondary compared to what we now know about its awesome function? Don't we all owe it to those god-endowed assets for our survival at the dawn of our birth to our independent, weaning off age? In fact, our gratitude for them goes beyond this.
 


When I think about the unbreakable bond between a mother and a child, I stand in awe of the matchmaking function of the breast. Imagine the initial crucial few months or years of breastfeeding and the incredibly close, or intimate contact, between the mother and her child. Picture the constant attention, the social cues, the mutual communication and the giggles and smiles exchanged, when the mother is breastfeeding her baby. Doesn't all these mutually reinforce their love for each other and in return, provides the social, and not just physical, development for the baby as she grows up? And we have the breasts to thank for because this is a journey we all once took. 

For the above reasons, when I recently heard about what the actress and activist Angelina Jolie did, that is, to undergo a preventive double mastectomy, because she carried the defective genes (BRCA1), I truly felt for her. My heart goes out. In her article, she wrote, “I can tell my children that they don’t need to fear that they will lose me to breast cancer. It is reassuring that they see nothing that makes them uncomfortable. They can see my small scars and that’s it. Everything else is just Mummy, the same as she always was. And they know that I love them and will do anything to be with them as long as I can.” What caught my attention is the next line, “On a personal note, I do not feel any less of a woman. I feel empowered that I made a strong choice that in no way diminishes my femininity.”

Indeed, what defines beauty is not so much what appears to us as beautiful. No doubt Angeline Jolie is physically attractive by any standards of this world. But that is not what defines her. Essentially, her surgery did not make her less of a woman because the essence of it is in her character as revealed in her own words, “Life comes with many challenges. The one that should not scare us are the ones we can take on and take control of.” Ultimately, the beauty of character shines through.

The truth is, there is generally more to beauty than meets the eye. But we often overlook or dismiss true beauty in the physical ugliness that surrounds us daily. We tend to forget that what is beautiful need not necessarily be good. But what is good is always beautiful. Tom Wolfe puts it this way, “At the very core of fasionable society exists a monstrous vulgarity: The habit of judging human beings by standards having no necessary relation to their character.” I am afraid this so called “monstrous vulgarity” is a form of life-denying ugliness that robs true beauty from the beauty of the apparent.

It is said that if you watch a person looking in a mirror,  you will see a person trying to please himself. And that is unfortunately how most of us see the world. It is a big mirror reflecting only the well groomed image of ourselves. But what we project to the world is but an image, an appearance, that is both superficial and transient. Alas, the beauty that is virtue and character cannot be captured in a mirror.  And no matter how we try to please ourselves by polishing up our appearances, our efforts are no more effective than trying to nail jello to a wall.  It just will not stick.

So, going back to my obsession with breasts, it is essentially an obsession that goes far deeper than the image of them as object of sexual desire and reproduction. Obviously the beauty of the breast goes beyond the physical. More relevantly, it is how they have evolved to nourish the bond between a mother and her child, and how they remain faithful to the end in protecting both of them from unwarranted harm, that fills my days with sleepless wonderment. No doubt, they will still be an attraction to me, or a distraction depending on your level of personal honesty, as I am only human. But at least from now onwards, when I discreetly share with another that I admire them, I know what I am talking about. Cheerz.