They say, in a Filipino perspective at least, that the bigger the boobs, the sexier the girl.
I don't know, really. During the age when I'm supposed to have raging hormones, I never really figured out the difference. Back when I was way younger, I think everybody was the same, bikini or otherwise. FHM
came along, and suddenly there it was, printed in color ink and glossy paper. The bigger the boobs, the sexier the girl. And perhaps almost everything else.
I don't read FHM
, but I came across it, like every other sort-of-grown man in our generation, during high school. Back then it was a risky thing, with schools quick to ban its entry because of an unusually high amount of exposed body parts, or so they claimed. Suddenly you have sexy film stars baring their breasts and their butts for posterity. Suddenly you have men trying to peer through the velvet just to see even the slightest hint of nipple. As in they really squeal.
Anyway, back then it was a very revolutionary thing. Oh good heavens, Angela Velez! Juliana Palermo! Joyce Jimenez!
I never bought a copy, partly because my parents would obstruct, and partly because I didn't find any sense in it. (Besides, I thought you had to have a good storage place for the magazines. I didn't have any.) But I managed to see a couple of early copies, and yes, like any other hormone-driven boy at the time, I was flipping through the photos.
But I am, like most of them, a hormone-driven boy. Gone were the innocent childhood ethos of having a crush on the cutest face in your class. Suddenly you're expected to grow up and inspect the entire anatomy. Suddenly thoughts like "you don't like sagging breasts" or "you don't like small asses" are involuntarily drilled in your subconscious.
Inevitably it goes elsewhere, although for some reason it didn't really hit me that hard, or I just wasn't surrounded with somewhat perverted people like those back in high school. It still lay in one's expressive eyes, or how prominent their cheekbones are, or the way they work their hair. And then it happened. You've got to look at people a certain way. You've got to have this certain demeanor. You've got to flaunt the right body parts. You've got to tease the right body parts.
The bigger the boobs, the sexier the girl.
I look around and there it is. Life-sized standees of Katrina Halili. A billboard of Angel Locsin, showing a little more of her left leg than usual. Marian Rivera in a tank top. Then there's Cherry Kubota, then there's Christine Mendoza, and all of a sudden, we're in a supposedly immoral wasteland, even if FHM
has toned down already. I don't know if it's because I'm just like everybody else, but at points in time I feel like a pervert.
Face first. Then go down.
Then go down.
Then go down. Scientifically, that's the hip, but that's not what you're looking for.
Suddenly I was like a boy band doing an interview with a television host, and they spent the entire hour looking at the poor personality's posterior.
I'll have to confess and say that, as much as I'm uncomfortable thinking about thinking about it, I'm like every other boy in the magazine rack. The physical aspect's never been a big thing yet - the academic in you will say it's society's expectations, or the media's portrayal - but it's there. I have to live with the fact that I'm hard-wired to look below the neck and scrutinize.
But there's still the eyes, and the cheekbones, and the way they flip their hair, and all of a sudden I realize that stating that at this point in the blog isn't going to save me from "you're perving on me!" comments. It's no saving grace. I feel humiliated. And yet I feel I can't do anything about it. So why did I write this in the first place?