I Finally Got a Proper Bra Fitting — Here’s What Happened

Optimism in elastic form

The search for a comfortable bra is, essentially, optimism in elastic form. For years I believed I was “about” a certain size. Not because it was correct, but because it had been agreed at some point in the past and I saw no reason to reopen the matter. Every new bra came with hope. Hope that this one would be comfortable. Hope that it wouldn’t dig in, ride up, or require adjusting in public. Hope that my body had quietly returned to how it was in 2004. It hadn’t.

Which is how I found myself booking an appointment with Rigby & Peller.

For years I had walked past the shop, pausing briefly at the window with a familiar thought: One day.

That day arrived when I was feeling unexpectedly flush and clearly overconfident. I booked the appointment, walked in, and prepared myself to be measured and gently disappointed.

The assistant — who I can only assume had personally seen rationing — informed me that they no longer measure, but instead size by eye.

By eye.

At these prices?

Dutifully, I removed my bra and experienced the inevitable drop, both physical and emotional. She regarded me with a few thoughtful “mmm”s, nodded to herself, and disappeared.

While I was behind the curtain she shouted, “Dressy or everyday?” I said everyday. If I was paying this much, I wanted value for money and ongoing support. The first bra went on. Miracle of miracles — it fitted. Properly. Comfortably. No digging. No adjusting. No quiet resentment. “Size?” I asked, already suspicious. “34F,” she said, gleefully.

Thirty-four. F.

I had been wearing a 38DD, which it turns out was less a size and more a hopeful suggestion. She was right. It was beautifully fitting and the most comfortable bra I’d ever worn in my life. I asked for one in white and one in black. She looked delighted, like a woman who knew exactly how this story ended.

At the till, I took out my purse. “Thank you, madam,” she said. “We have a sale today, so with the discount that will be only one hundred and thirty-eight pounds.” There may have been a brief loss of consciousness. Once I’d recovered, I didn’t really have the heart to say no. Also, I really wanted them. So my purse opened, my card beeped obligingly at the machine, and I left the shop carrying a beautifully designed R&P bag containing two extremely precious bras. I have no regrets. Ask me again next month.

M&S (the sensible sequel)

The next time I went bra shopping, I returned to good old M&S and booked a fitting. It was worth it — even though they sized me differently.

I did feel obliged to mention — lightly — that I usually shop at Rigby & Peller and that they had put me at a 34F.

I didn’t mention that this had happened exactly once, on a day of reckless confidence and a slightly healthier bank balance than usual.

The assistant nodded and explained that their bras come up slightly differently.

Of course they do.

I was strangely happy to be back in a shop I knew I could afford, and left with four newly sized bras that were pretty, comfortable, and cost less than my Rigby & Peller Pretty Woman moment. The moral of the story? You don't need to spend 100s (although its lovely if you can afford it). You DO need to be fitted properly.

Next week: knickers. Possibly.