Post Mortem: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Take a Forbidden Stroll Down Memory Lane (Patreon)

When you’re a big boob lady on internet, you tend to gravitate toward other big boob ladies on internet. There aren’t a huge number of us, but we’re a decent, motley crew. I’m not gonna name names or anything, but suffice it to say, some of us don’t know each other at all; some of us are just passing acquaintances; some of us are actually really good friends. I suppose that makes sense: just because you’ve got shockingly rockin’ curves, doesn’t mean you’re just gonna find a new bestie. But as a conversation starter? It doesn’t hurt.

[Editor’s Note: Though, aside from these folks, every once in a while, you meet someone astonishing, and they become a huge part of your life. You know who you are, and I think a lot of you reading this might have a pretty good idea, too. Such Big Kissies. But we’ll get to YOU later. :-*]

Shop talk, you know? This might or might not come as a surprise, but aside from the ways we choose to present ourselves online, we’re all actually pretty normal. Some of us are bookish geeks who enjoy old movies; some of us have spouses and kids; some of us raise goats; work in shops; go to school; get really farty sometimes, after eating too many chicken nuggets.

And when I say “we,” I’m not even necessarily talking about internet big boob ladies. I’m talkin’ about all of us. It’s no secret that social media allows each of us to present an idealized version of ourselves to the world. And, so it goes. Worship the Almighty Algorithm. Welcome the Benevolent Overlords. Embrace Big Brother. At least, for now, we all get to choose the content we put out there, even if it does present a somewhat distorted version of our realities. Oh, well. For what it’s worth, I’m glad none of you has to ever see just how drool-y I am when I wake up in the morning. (Though I’m sure Rule 34 contains a provision for that).

For whatever it’s worth, these conversations aren’t really as sexy as most might fantasize them to be. It’s not some apotheosis of what ‘80s sorority flicks would have you believe. Nothing akin to pillow fights in panties, or slow-motion water hose battles. The only wet T-shirts come from finishing up the dishes. Truth be told, there’s not even a lot of the moderately sultry minutia, like, “Hey, where do you get your bras?” (we all have our go-tos) or “You send me yours, I’ll send you mine.” For the most part, it’s at best, silly conversation with a like-minded soul who has had some unique, similar experiences. At the most mundane, it’s helping a lady out by giving her a shout or swapping notes about some new platform.

New platforms, indeed. I think something most of us big boob ladies on internet have in common is Instagram, that grand reluctant go-to, and its slow decline into puritanism. It's the biggest platform, so it's kind of automatic. But, when it comes to presenting a somewhat unique body that's, for better or worse, defined by secondary sex organs, it gets problematic, no matter which way you cut it. 

Their nudity and sexual “behavior standards” are fairly vague, and I think intentionally so: No naked buts, but a thin line of a thong is OK(?); no bare breasts, except in paintings or when it relates to breastfeeding or surgery (no guarantee there either); no solicitation for sex and none of the heavier stuff, which sure, I get, there are other places online for that, God knows.

But as far as any other specifics? Instagram keeps that info under wraps, because I think they treat it “on a case-by-case” basis. Which sounds nice on the surface… but also gives them a tremendous amount of leeway for arbitrary ambiguity. There’s something a little cringy/dystopian about it. There was a landmark Supreme Court case on censorship and free speech in 1964, Jacobellis v. Ohio, in which Justice Stewart said, regarding obscenity, “I’ll know it when I see it.” I dunno: seems inconsistent, to me.

As I’m sure you can imagine, the boob aspect has caused me to run afoul from time to time. Common consensus among internet big boob ladies is that if we were to post an identical image with C cups, we’d be just fine — it’s the simple fact that our boobs are just freaking huge that makes us inherently obscene. Which is… not a great thing when you’re just trying to function in a society, let alone on some fucking social media platform. 

Who can blame 'em, though, right? I mean, "You know us when you see us."

Suffice it to say, I’ve had my fair share of images taken down. Only a few! And not for at least a year now — I’ve been a good girl! I think one was because… my nipple was poking just a little TOO much through a T-shirt? Another was a little video where they were fully-clothed, braless, and — GASP! — moving slightly in accordance with gravity and inertia?! The other was… I can’t remember, but it was like, half of a hand-bra. Oh tHe HuManiTy!!!1! tHiNk aBouT tHe iNdEcenCy!!

Those of you who have followed me for a while know that “steamy sexpot temptress” is not really my speed. I like sharing, and having some fun every now and then, and using this madness as a framework for rambling essays punctuated by some (more often than not) casual, demure, easy-going pics of me and Nat and Olga. If I dare say, a high-minded alternative to the OnlyFans route. You’re here because you want to be, because you like what I do, and that’s simply delightful. I really can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. (You clever bloke, you.)

Which is why it was so strange that, back in September, I logged in to find that my account was no more. Just a weird husk with a notice that I violated the terms of service. Au revior, 140,000 followers.

[Editor's Note: Yeah, I'm in full ramble mode. But I promise, there are some pics here, and I'm getting around to some vague point]

It’s not that the loss of the followers bugged me so much. Some of them are lovely folks; some of them really enjoy the content; I’m sure a huge number were just bots, so who the hell cares. I had a backup account (plan ahead, people) so I got to work on repopulating that. Sully forth, and carry on, and my bestest buddies, like those of you reading this, were able to ride the wipeout along with me.

But! I had some great stuff in there! Pics I definitely don’t have just lying around anymore; captions I really took some time crafting; observations and life lessons… in a way, it was a sort-of mini-diary, and it all represented a really transitional time in my whole life. I could scroll through that old feed and see the instances where I changed, evolved.

That’s a huge tragedy, especially for a writer. The reason it didn’t devastate me is because… I got lucky. Only a few weeks before the downfall, I got a wild hair up my ass to request a complete download of all the content I’d ever posted on Instagram. I’d never done it before, but I stumbled across the option, decided ‘why the hell not,’ and a few days later, they sent me a link. Phew. 3.6 roentgen. Not great, not terrible — at least 96% of the content itself is safe and sound.

When I regained my footing, I reached out to a few of my old buddies, who were more than happy to broadcast that 'my old account was dead, and here’s where you can find your old buddy, Heather.' We all do that for each other — it’s our big boob lady on internet code.

One of my oldest friends hit me back. I didn’t know this, but her account has been shut down, like, a jillion times in the last several years. She’s always been able to petition to get it up-and-running again, and had some great advice on that. “You have a month, and there’s always a new person reading it, and you can send off one reactivation request a day, so do that!” (Fine advice, but it didn’t work for me — won’t go into details, but I got stonewalled by Facebook frogginess, and for reasons I’ve already touched upon, was pretty quick to say, “fuck it, move on.”)

She had other advice, too. Stuff she was able to discern through her own experience. Stuff that I find helpful, and have parrotted from time to time lately to other friends who have gone through the same thing. Many of these rules, again, don’t apply to the normally boobed of the world, but hey. Modern problems require modern solutions. So:

• Zero nudity, even in DMs. They scan those, too, including links.

• No "hand bras."

• No clever edits, and that includes strategically placed emojis.

• If it even LOOKS like you’re not wearing clothes, or not even wearing a shirt — even if you can’t even see the boobs — it’s still nudity, and you’re risking it.

• Don’t take a chance by wearing anything sheer, even if the nipples are covered.

• If it’s NOT nudity, like wearing a shirt, no videos where there’s clear, undulating, jiggly motion of the bewbs. 

• No posts where the focus of the images is clearly on a nipple that is clearly represented through the fabric of a top.

• Show all the cleavage at your own risk. Side boob is riskier. Underboob is verboten.

• Not the best idea in the world to do any hefting, smushing, or other similar interactions. In other words, keep your damn hands off your own tiddies, or society will crumble.

• This one pisses me off the most: Just really, "Don’t show too much boob, in general." (Just makes me want to throw up my hands and say, “So what the fuck am I supposed to do?!” And then do a Khaby Lame “SEE?” double hands at the girls.

Ah, well. The one thing I've been wondering, and that I’ve touched on this before… is, was it one post that really killed the old account? Or was it sort of a collection of straws that broke the camel’s back?

Since I can never show these on Instagram again, obviously, and since Twitter is great and all, but I just really fucking hate it, truth be told, AND, since I have the whole IG archive… I thought it would be kinda fun to post all the images here that could’a killed my old account. Examine the suspects, like in some Agatha Christie novel.

Some of you may have seen some of these images before; it’s possible you haven’t, either. So if this is your first time, enjoy. If not, enjoy a little stroll down mammary lane (Seriously, I just couldn’t resist, Lord, I’m an idiot.) while we conduct a post mortem on Heather's IG, v.1.0.

1. Where Light Cannot Escape

Caption: So, I opened up this article (hed is in slide 2️⃣, so Google if you're so inclined) anticipating a pleasant little piece of satire. It set itself up as something the Onion would normally produce, so I was expecting a chuckle or two. Instead, I discovered that the venerable (?) Slate had given over the science desk to a person who (presumably) would rather argue about Japanese soufflé pancake pictures she found an Instagram. Seriously, person whose name is also Heather (no relation): do you have any idea of the effort, collaboration, time, technology, and wherewithal it took to gather this image (fiiiiine, composite) of a picture of a BLACK HOLE (fiiiine, its silhouette)? Are you actually complaining that an image that occupies 1/60 millionth of an arc second of the sky doesn't have the same 4K high-def quality that you would find at a Lily Pulitzer runway show? Surrender your desk to someone who knows the difference between an M and a B, and who knows that light years are not a measure of time, but of distance (seriously, those corrections [slide 3️⃣] were hilarious). Go back to determining through BuzzFeed-style polls which cat would end up in which Hogwarts house. Or convince the 18-hour-a-day editor who cynically green-lit this un-researched piece of poop that if you're going to call yourself a journalist, that your first responsibility is to INFORM THE ELECTORATE; not to cast whiny judgment on a topic you don't even care to understand (like the awesome slide 4️⃣). And please, most of all — don't force a woman who flashes her boobs on Instagram (see slide 1️⃣) to explain why you're not the greatest benefit to scientific journalism. Oops. Too late.

Ohhh, yeah, this would definitely be one of those that violates the emoji rule. In this case, screenshots. Don't worry about the other slides: it was just some snarky article about how the black hole photograph sucked. Derp, OK. YOU take a fuckin' photo of a black hole, then. The corrections slide was great, though. The source had to issue like, three of them, because the writer was all over the place, confusing age with lightyears, and mass with size, and all that kinda derpy jizz. 

2. A Little Nap

Caption: Observation No. 5627 of life with big boobs: you always have a pair of pillows in front of you. Observation No. 5628: surprisingly, it's not as comfy as you'd think. Get the full (evolving) story on my Patreon page, link in bio. #boobsfallasleep #pinsandneedles #macromastia

I thiiink this one should have gotten removed just because of weird points. I'm sure there's some guidebook, somewhere at IG headquarters, that has some specifics about what's allowed, and what'll scar people for life. Also, pretty sure there, not an entry about semi-exposed boob pillows. 

3. Beware The Cleavage Monster (Which is Apparently a Pineapple)

Caption: A lot of you have recently asked if I post topless pics on my Patreon. The short answer is: yeah, sometimes, but not lately, though I will again in all likelihood. There's only a handful of them up there right now, along with clothed pics, videos, memes, amusing stuff I've stumbled across, and mostly, writings about my unique life with a condition called macromastia (also some original fiction!). Topless is a part of my Patreon like my nipples are a part of me: they're there, no doubt about it, but they're not the defining characteristic of who I am. There's more to this chick than her nickname would imply. In short, if you're interested in a "here are my bare breasts, now give me money" page, your $$$ will be better spent elsewhere. However... if you want to know about the absurd stuff and odd observations that come with life as an average though (very and newly) large-breasted woman, then stop on by. 💁🏻🙌🏻💃🏻

Oh, another early violator of the emoji rule. This pic was early, too. Fun to see how some of my philosophies have changed, and how some have stayed the same... 

4. Skirts as Tops are Actually Really Fun. 

Caption: So that video got cut by the powers that be. I guess nipples, even through cloth, are verboten. Which I'm mainly bummed about because it messed up my flow of selfie/meme/selfie/meme/etc. Anyway, here's a still with some strategic stickers, guaranteed to not offend. Sorry my anatomy was an affront. 🙄 At least the video is still on the Patreon.

I remember this one! Yeah, the video that went with this screenshot was originally on IG for like, 2 hours, and it got pulled. I THINK it's still here in the Patreon — I don't have a lot of videos on this platform, but there's a little button you can hit on my main page that'll sort all the videos for you, so it shouldn't be too hard to find. I remember that made me super-paranoid when it got taken down, so I reposted a picture, clothed, but with some nipple action taking place, and did a couple of emojis... that was a weird one. Haven't thought about that in ages. 

5. The Underboob Cometh

Caption: The holidays are a little weird. I've seen a lot of memes going around illustrating this idea that time doesn't exist between Christmas and New Year's. Most of us have off, the majority of us are so fucking anxious that we have no idea what to do with ourselves, should we have a drink at 10 o'clock in the morning? Why the hell not. Should we be doing something productive? Like taking the free time to catch up on work, check in with our families, work on that novel? Or just binge watch Black Mirror on Netflix while we count down the minutes until life gets back to "normal?" Well, the holidays aren't over yet. Here's a belated Christmas something. So, what are you all doing for New Years?

Here's a two-fer. Wanna know the thing about this post? This was like, a year before Covid. Ennui for the win, ammiright? But yeah... Severe underboob, AND hefting? I'm surprised they didn't brand a but letter "A" to my head. 

6. Yeah, Actually, This One's Definitely... Um... I was Hungover, OK?

Caption: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; [...] Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it. — R. Kipling, “If—“

I know, I know. Favorite poem. I think someone will agree with me on this one. (And funny enough, posted in September, 2020, before I even knew you! Huh!) Anyway, woooah! Totally shocked this was not torn down immediately! Still I like this one. I look hungover (as is my nature), and Olga is just being a little bitch. 

7. Meh.

Caption: So, running is out of the question. There’s not really a swimming pool nearby. And as much as I would really fancy a good fencing match, it’s hard to engarde while maintaining proper social distancing. So, I found an old mat, and have been *trying* my hand at yoga again. Damn, I suck at being flexible. But, perfect a cream sauce during quarantine I have, and I’ve been gathering the pudge to show for it! I will say that I’ve had to adapt some of the steps of a sun salutation, but who knows? If I get really good at it, maybe they’ll give me a Masterclass on Exercising While Busty.

Not one that I think they would ever take down, BUT... Something that earns me some interesting stares/nasty looks in public, which I think is kinda mean. 

8. OK, I'll Give 'Em This One. 

Caption: Just posted a wordy little piece of feel-goodery on the Patreon. (Link in bio.) Got to feel all wise and mentory, which is never a bad feeling, especially when it comes to trading off the fact that I’m pushin’ 38. With age comes wisdom? That and an increased tolerance for alcohol if you play your cards right. The companion pic to this one was probably just a *skosh* too nipply for the ol’ Gram, but I dug it, so that’s up there, too. #InspirationAnd38Rs ☮️&❤️, y’all.

Oh, yeah, you know what? As I said in a previous post here, I think this is probably a big contributor to what done it. I could almost kinda feel this one was gonna get me in trouble. But like a petulant toddler, I wanted to test my limits. I like this pic. But it violate some of the commandments. Setting myself up for disaster? Table for one, please!

9. Shirts are Hard, OK?

Caption: If we didn’t have bigger problems in the world, I’m sure I would be all about campaigning for nipple freedom. That being said, this little blue planet sticker has come in handy on a bunch of occasions. (Luckily, my Patreon [link in bio] lets me get away without such silliness.) If it wasn’t (probably) trademarked by somebody else already, I would likely put it on a teeshirt. That little guy has helped me through a lot. Segue! Why not use this as a chance to tell y’all that I’ve got some merch? Teeshirt junkie me, but I’ve already ordered a form-fitting sample of each one: celebration of the warmer months, soon to come, and a way to share some fabulous designs I’ve collaborated on, in wearable form. Care for a closer look? Head to HeatherWithTheShirts, followed by the usual punctuation mark and suffix. (I’m still an amateur in the teeshirt arts; if there’s anyone fluent, I always welcome tips!) Special shouts to these lovely artists for the incredible art: 4️⃣ @iurypadilha.art 6️⃣ @suppressed_imagination 7️⃣ @franchesxka And 3️⃣... yeah, yeah, I fixed the typo. 🤣🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

Yeah, what can I say. I was feeling a little froggy about the whole notion of censorship, and I was on my T-shirt kick. I had baked ENOUGH for one lifetime, thank you very much, and was trying to change things up a little. 

10. I'll Die on This Hill.

Caption: Well, that was interesting. Over the last several years, Christmas has always stressed me out. Not the holiday itself, but because some sort of life altering drama seems to take place during the season. Usually family stuff. I have this old saying, “I wonder what’s going to mess up Christmas this year.” That makes me sound cynical, doesn’t it? I don’t mean to. And I don’t wanna kill anybody’s buzz. I really do, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, wish you and everyone you care about the happiest and most splendid of holiday seasons. But, with the big day just over the horizon, I think I’ve gotten over this year’s iteration of whatever bullshit is going to be thrown around, and for what it’s worth, I’m relatively uncovered in poop. Knock on wood! Now, all that’s left is to plot out how I’m going to spend the day. I think I’m going to binge watch a bunch of old movies, and I’m going to make an entire tray of stuffing. Just literally bread that’s been soaked in chicken stock, and baked. And I’m going to eat the entire damn thing. Also mulled wine. And chocolate. And, oh... Steak au Poivre. Yeeeeeah. That’s a good side dish.

Man, I don't know what it is. I just get weird around Christmastime. Maybe not weird... anxious? Restless? Those underboob ones a few pics back, same deal. Almost exactly two years earlier. What the heck is it? Huh. Anyway, I posted this with a willing abandonment of the nipple-pokage clause. Nat's nip is all just like, Hey, Bitches, What The Hell You Gonna Do About It. Good Nat.

11. More of an Abstract, Really. 

Caption: Not exactly an out-in-public piece of attire. But on a sweltering day like today? Yeah... fine, Patreon buddies. Maybe you're right. It's a little worn out, but I might keep this top after all, as an around-the-house kinda thing... at least for one more season, anyway.

I think this gets a pass. I mean, you could be looking at anything, right? I mean it could be... Like, a sort of... You know... One of those... OK. It's boobs. 

You know them when you see them.