I’ve always had a very complicated relationship with bras. And I know I’m not alone in this. Over my many years of lady-hood, it’s become apparent that many many many people who are required to don the brassiere hate them. When I worked at the women’s magazines, the topic of how to do an article/listicle/poll/guide on how to find/fit/make peace with your bra was an annual event. My (sort-of) brief and not-so-wondrous history with this item of clothing went through the regular channels of youth (“whee, I’m a woman now. Let’s get me a bra, mom.”) to young-adulthood (“I’d rather just wear that hippie halter top.) to single-in-the-city/professional (“Ouch. Underwires and price tags.”) That latter stage spanned from obsessively watching Sex & the City and believing subtle Samantha tropes while relating more to Miranda moments to finally figuring out how to find something I liked (no underwires or excessive padding, thank you). When we moved out to SoCal in January, I dumped the contents of the whole bra drawer in a box, then when we arrived, I dumped the whole box in the new dresser. And there they’ve sat, most of them in very low rotation.

Then, last week, as I pondered various ways to be crafty about creating my own mask to use during our current make-your-own-PPE crisis, I came across a series of online tutorials showing how to turn bras into face masks. Although I didn’t follow this one exactly, it is my A#1 favorite for step-by-step entertainment and pure joy. (I can’t find the one I actually used, but this one is close & simple.) I was excited about those lightly padded things I had hanging out in my drawer, and also mostly glad that I’d stopped buying the lace and floral designs that had derailed my checking account during the Victoria’s Secret phase of my life. (Although my mom did ask whether I featured any lacy bits, and I was happy to that my dad couldn’t tell it was a bra until I told him.)

So yesterday I suited up (see above) in my homemade mask, safety glasses I’d snagged at Home Depot years ago because I thought they gave me a kind of Bono vibe, rubber gloves from Dennis’s collection of contractor gear, bandanna to keep my hair in place, grabbed my cloth grocery bags and steeled my nerves to make a foray into Trader Joe’s to buy enough food for the next two weeks for our magic bubble (otherwise known as Dennis, dad & me). I was pleased to find that four out of five humans were following the wear-a-mask suggestion that had made the airwaves the day before. I was also pleased that the six-foot-person-to-person distance was mostly being observed.

We are, all of us, finding ourselves in uncharted waters and as we float around in that space, I’m appreciating the messages that acknowledge that whatever you and I do right now, it’s enough (as one of my online movement teachers put it last week “you’re winning just by getting out of bed. If you get back in five minutes later, you’ve still won.”) Connecting via online is an awesome way to not feel alone.

But despite the wonder of screen-time connections, there’s no doubt that hugging is a truly fantastic thing that is missed. To quote Meghan Markle, “I hug.” Within that context of distance, it is truly surreal to look east and know that the place where I spent decades, still co-own property, and have so many dear, dear, hold-my-heart friends is currently at the apex of this crap-ass, terrifying coronavirus crisis. I’m sending so much love to those I love and to those I would see almost daily but didn’t know their names (I’m thinking of you lovely postal lady whose shyness gave way over time to chatting; 168th street, subway train platform crew who, among you, made me feel anchored in a place that otherwise held so much frustration; A-train morning conductor who had a bit of a stutter and wrapped me up in the assurance that I would probably make it to work on time or if I didn’t, he would let us know why, which was truly unusual in the working ways of the underground communication system; and the John-Goodman soundalike on my not-a-late-night A train home who sounded like he was smiling). I cross fingers and toes that each and every one of them are as fine as can be right now.

For those I know and get to talk to on the regular, a photo gallery of a time when we got to stand close and feel each other’s presence shoulder to shoulder. Now we’re virtually shoulder-to-shoulder, heart-to-heart until a time when we can hug again. (And for those of you who I love and don’t have an actual photo shoulder-to-shoulder with, well I look forward to when we can take one & I’ll add it here!)

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