The M&S Bra Fitting Debate: Is It Personal Choice Or Prejudice?

Whilst I’m not in the business of jumping on trends or news bandwagons, it was hard to miss last week’s uproar over the alleged trans sales assistant from Marks & Sparks, and his/her brief interlude with a 14-year-old girl in the lingerie section.

In case you missed it: the member of staff (who works across all departments, not specifically bra fitting) offered help to the teen and her mother. And the family say it felt inappropriate and caused them distress.

Marks & Spencer apologised for the upset, and the whole thing snowballed into the M&S bra fitting controversy now flooding headlines, with some, including JK Rowling, calling for boycotts,i and others defending the right for all staff to serve all customers, regardless of gender identity.

So why am I wading into the great bra department debate?

Is it because I have a 13-year-old daughter, and I’d be equally outraged in that situation? Hmmm… maybe, in the moment. But since my kiddo hates all people, it’s not exactly a situation we’ll be facing anytime soon. Is it because I own a Marks & Spencer skirt that I love, and wear with both comfort and shame, given the brand’s talent for ending up in hot water? Also no. That skirt has pockets. It’s practically couture in mum world.

It's because, I get it. I get why the family may have felt uneasy.

When I was pregnant, I didn’t want a midwife who hadn’t physically pushed a 9lb watermelon out of her hoo-ha. And when I learned to drive at 30, I wouldn’t have wanted an instructor whose driving experience points all came from Mario Kart.

It’s not prejudice - it’s preference.

A preference for experience.

Lived-in experience that I can relate to and feel at ease with.

And no, I don’t actually care what you’ve got going on down there, be it... (I wish I had a theme tune for this bit)

A ball and wicket

A pickle with cheese

A chimney choo

Or a mid-peak sneeze

A fairy den

A plum and a pear

A Malibu

Or an och aye down there! A clapping seal

A porcupine

A party for one

Or a prince you dine

A wish you dream

A cockatoo

A honk the horn

Or a toodle loo!

A scary crow

A cluttered mess

A designer dash

Or a trim at best

A half and half

A special dance

A G string strung

Or your Nana’s pants

A banana-rama

A party trick

A place your bets

An all in good nick

A rent a room

A cardinal sin

A now Juliet

Who used to be Jim

A whiplash moment

A knock you out

A what-the-heck

Was that all about?

A wishing well

A sing-song dandy

A pop the pill

Some yummy candy

A lazy Sue

A Jonny B

A kind of cute

A hard-to-see

A handy pen

A point and go

Or a light-up runway

With all on show!

(Insert ta-da music in your head here!) Because for me, it’s not about anatomy checklists or identity politics. It’s about comfort. About trust. About feeling like the person helping me has actually walked through the same fire. And not just read about it in a manual.

It’s the same reason some people will only see a female GP for certain issues, or only get tattooed by someone who’s inked their style before.

That’s not prejudice.

That’s knowing what makes you feel comfortable, and protecting that.

Did this awkward bra fitting story need front-page treatment? No, but here we are, wading through the outrage anyway (and yes, I get the irony of that given that I've opted to write a post on the topic!)

And I find it so frustrating, because, honestly, we don’t need to turn every personal preference into a headline scandal, or slap “bigot” on someone just because their comfort zone doesn’t match yours.

In a world where so much is out of our control, the right to decide who helps us with the most personal parts of life should be one of the few choices we still get to keep.

And we shouldn’t have to apologise for it. Ever.

P.S. If this post made you feel just a little bit more human, you can find more of that in my book. Grab a copy over on Amazon, or if you'd prefer a signed edition, just drop me a message.

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 "You can’t please everyone. You’re not a jar of Nutella."

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