The cleavage primer
I recently overheard conversational snippets between two women in which both were complaining about men admiring their cleavage. As it happens, both women were rather attractive, had chests that might be characterized as ample, and were wearing low-cut blouses that displayed a not-insignificant portion of their orb-like lady parts. If I were less generous, I might be tempted to say something like “each lady’s cleavage was visible from space” or “Holy boobs, Batman!” But I’m a generous and mature man, so I won’t say either of those things. I will, however, offer my thoughts on cleavage viewing -- and cleavage display -- as a public service.
Before I offend everyone I haven’t already offended (you know who you are), let me state the following: it is absolutely bad form for a man to stare at a lady’s chest for a duration of time exceeding 0.34 seconds. Up to that time, he is merely fulfilling his evolutionary requirement to assess the physical attractiveness of any woman who still possesses a pulse. Beyond 0.34 seconds, he is running the risk of earning a nickname like Captain Creepy. I don’t care how awe-inspiring the cleavage happens to be. There are exceptions, of course, but unless you’re at an establishment whose name begins with Cheetah, Filly, or Vixxxen and ends with Lounge, Corral, or Heaven, I think the preceding advice can serve as a reasonable rule of thumb.
Having said all of those things, I would like to offer the following thoughts to the aforementioned women who were lamenting the prying eyes of the not-so-fair sex. In the wonderful and varied arsenal of love, cleavage is a napalm strike capable of voiding an entire bar’s worth of red-blooded male brains of any higher thoughts. Cleavage, of course, cannot be aimed, and herein lies the problem. While the lady displaying her wares often hopes to attract a particular member of the opposite sex or at least a particular subset of the opposite sex (i.e. the physically attractive ones), she is unwittingly casting a massive net that will snare the glances and stares of anything attached to a penis. There will be tires, toilet seats and the occasional turtle accompanying the salmon when she reels the net back in. Peace must be made with this truth.
Discuss.
Comments
wow htv, no comments? apparently this topic is too risqué for your readers. except me, of course. i have to slightly disagree with your point - specifically the amount of time you can stare at a woman's rack. a wise man once said "looking at a cleavage is like looking at the sun. you don't stare at it. it's too risky. you get a sense of it and then you look away." this is very true, but i know i can stare at the sun for a couple of seconds.
and do you look at other masterpieces like the mona lisa or the sistine chapel for just 0.34 seconds? the aesthetics of breasts should be appreciated, which means admiring them for more than half a second. i won't put a time limit on such admiration, as there are many different situations that call for varying lengths of time and types of admiration (i.e. glance, stare, ogle, etc.). the most imperative point is not to get caught. but if that should happen, it's best not to quickly turn in shame and drop your eyes to the ground. instead, check out her eyes - they may be even more attractive then her breasts!
i have to agree with dap that, in most cases, .34 seconds might not be sufficient. rather than limiting the glances duration, perhaps the key is timing. time the glance so that you have at least a couple seconds to look. maybe do it just as she's greeting someone who's just come in or, if your in a restaurant or bar, just as a member of the wait staff has asked her if she wants anything. that way, both parties leave happy--the guy is happy because he has seen the cleavage, and the girl is happy because she thinks that he hasn't or because the fact that he has hasn't occurred to her.
oh yeah, and one other thing. why is it always that the woman who complains about men looking at her cleavage is the woman who's wearing the lowest cut shirt in the room? if she doesn't want men to look at them, why does she put them in a display case?
I'm not exactly sure why, but Brian's comment reminded me of a qualifier I wanted to include in the original post, but forgot to: the duration of time that you're allowed to look is proportional to how physically attractive you are. As an example, I'm supposing that George Clooney is allowed to stare at cleavage for as long as he wants. Because when he's done, he'll probably say something funny or charming, but that doesn't exactly matter either, because he could also throw up a fifth of Glenlivet on the woman's shoes and she'd still be smitten with him.
Um, other than that, I'm just waiting for the backlash and/or enlightenment from the ladies. Though I suppose it's possible that I don't have any female readers.
I think it's safe to assume that these two ladies in question were participating in what could be described as mutual compliment fishing. It's been said many, many times, and I've concluded that it's true: women don't dress for men. They dress for other women. Keeping up with fashion and spending ungodly amounts of time and money on hair and make-up are the not-so-subtle indicators of class and status. These two were just asking each other to confirm their mutual attractiveness. But by displaying the goods and complaining about men looking, they're committing the sartorial equivalent of being upset that your car got stolen when you've left the doors unlocked and the key in the ignition.
Being in possession of a set of giganto cans myself, I've become hyperconscious lately of what my cleavage says about me. As far as cocktail dresses go (especially lately, as a presumed result of women's summer fashion offerings), trying on dresses leads to only two resulting looks: Quaker schoolmarm or lady of the night. Navigating the waters of how-much-cleave-is-too-much-and-how-much-is-not-enough is a dangerous game.
I also want to note that the Google ads at the bottom of this page are imploring me to both "Learn the 6 Rules of Cleavage" and "Chat with Attractive Japanese Girls." Are you making any money from this blog? How much have you profited from all of our mutual friends who are chatting with attractive Japanese girls right now?
In closing, boobs are literally everywhere. If every woman has two, that's exactly one for every member of the human race. Why aren't men sick of them yet?
Now, the business. I must admit that it was upsetting to learn that women are trying to impress each other rather than say, me, with their choice of blouses. As always, the truth hurts.
To answer your other questions, I am not, in fact, making any money from this blog. Frankly, I don't see how anybody could be making money from this blog. But, that's Vox's problem... not mine. So, I certainly have not gained financially as a result of our friends chatting up attractive ladies from the land of the rising sun. At the moment, I'm getting Google ads for websites that would enable me to meet local African American singles, big and beautiful singles, or beautiful Chinese ladies, along with an ad for a media processing website. Feel free to make your own "one of these things is not like the others" joke.
Why are men not sick of boobs, you ask? I'm hoping this is a rhetorical question, because I have neither an answer nor a joke.
As a lady who is also alive, I can say that I hate it when a fellow stares at my cleavage when he is over 60 years old, horrendously ugly or my boss which is why I don't wear slutty clothes to work. On the other hand, I don't mind so much if a young gentleman caller or not caller, takes a good long look at my jugs when I am out and about in the world -if he is the slightest bit attractive. Sometimes it even makes me blush. If I wear a blouse or dress that shows cleavage I am openly saying to everyone - please look at these.
I'd like to take a moment to note that I couldn't be prouder of this post (and associated comments). We have now had the phrase "giganto cans" and the word "titties" forever immortalized in our cozy little corner of the internets. The good people at Google Adsense must be going crazy. In fact, the good people at Vox, who host this fine forum, might have even made a dollar or two from my blog. Cheers to them.
Finally, kudos to Amanda for having an ample bosom. Supposing, of course, that her ineligibility for service on the Itty Bitty Titty Committee (IBTC) is accurate. And, since this is the internets, I have no reason to believe otherwise.