I got my first bra when I was in 6th grade.
I do not remember the acquisition of this garment, only the circumstances leading up to it.
My gym teacher called my mother to come in to explain that I NEEDED to get a bra.
I NEEDED to get a bra because part of the gym experience was jumping jacks.
(I personally was a great fan of jumping jacks and always executed them with great gusto.)
My gym teacher pointed out to my mother that the boys were also enjoying my jumping jacks.
To say that my mother was oblivious to me as an actual person becoming a woman is an understatement. She wanted no part of the whole mother/daughter thing. I was expected to grow up, move on, and do nothing that might embarrass her. Being called in to discuss my need for support garments clearly fell into the you’re-embarrassing-me category. I’m sure my gym teacher wasn’t thrilled to have to have this conversation; and I, of course, was beyond humiliated.
My mother got me my first bra.
All I can tell you is my first bra was a C-cup, and I’ve never looked back.
Clearly that first bra was necessary.
I mean, you can’t have boobs flying around like that. Somebody was going to get hurt.