Two boob-related ‘news’ stories this week filled me with shock and distress and dry throat sadness. Sure, they made seem like vastly different, unrelated except for their mammary connection, but that’s not the case. Or so my somewhat logical brain would have me have you believe.

This bra costs 2.5 million dollars in US currency, the green stuff that dreams are made of. If I was a smarter person, someone with financial brainpower, first I would find a way to be less of a destitute deadbeat, but then I would tell you how many starving-homeless-naked-oppressed people the cost of this ugly, shiny undergarment could assist in daily food-home-clothes related expenses.

It’s so special that the model, I mean Angel, Miranda Kerr is not even wearing it (the big reveal will be at the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion show), but posing beside it, blowing kisses to the crowd, like she’s saying, ‘hey guys, I might put on this ridiculously expensive bra, over my super-duper boobs later. Think about that!’ Of course this is genius. Put diamonds next to boobs and the logic of the universe should be ladies going ga-ga for diamonds and dudes going ga-ga for boobs, or ladies going ga-ga for boobs and dudes going ga-ga for diamonds. Recession what? Let me distract you with this boob-shine. And we’re done.

All I can say, is that I hope this fun-bag holder is made of blood diamonds, because then at least it’ll be worth the multi-million dollar price tag. Oh wait.

This is Courtney Stodden. She is 16 years old. Most people would say that 16 year olds are children. She is married to Doug Hutchison. He is an actor. And 51 years old. Her parents signed some papers that said their underage daughter could marry a 51 year old man. And somewhere in there they all decided it would be awesome if she got a boob job, but then deny it to the press, because the best part about getting a teen boob job to get media attention is lying about it in the media for even more attention. If you can’t exploit a 16 year old, then you need to quit at living, because that shit is easy. Here’s a tip if you need help in this endeavor: find out the names of all the drugs Anna Nicole Smith was on and then feed those to your chosen 16 year old. Put them in her Slimfast shake or whatever. Because you know she has body issues. She is 16. And has fake boobs.

This week Courtney was in the ‘news’ because she and her husband were kicked out of a pumpkin patch. They were engaging in some sexy behaviour, she was wearing the above coochie cutters and vinyl boots and her barely buttoned plaid shirt exposed her shiny new boobs. 

A few days later photos of Courtney from a few months ago were released. She looked 16 in these photos. In some she was fresh-faced and clean, in others she was posing, pouty-lipped and sexy. She wanted to be a model. She wanted to be seen as someone sexy. Someone like a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Or some other such thing. Which in and of itself, isn’t the worst thing to aspire to be. They strut around and people do think they’re sexy and they make a lot of money. There are many different types of beauty, a variety of standards that women can choose to adhere to. It’s okay to want to be a model. It’s not okay to be corralled into implanting strange silicone in your fresh, teen skin, to inject Botox without the hint of a wrinkle, to think at 16 that these are priorities, career building moves.

These two breast-centric stories are not so disparate. Both represent how commerce embeds itself in our chests, or on our chest, or near our chests. A boob job, an effing diamond bra. Boobs are money, my friends.