Yesterday, my girlfriend Rebecca dragged me through a Primark shop to grab a couple of last-minute Christmas gifts. For anyone who doesn’t know, Primark is a horrific place; perhaps the closest representation of the Christian interpretation of hell, on earth. It is a never ending jungle of cheap, tatty clothes, patrolled and overpopulated by a vicious breed of horrific rhinoceros women, clawing at one another for that last little frilly top, as their suicidal boyfriends sit on floor; their souls almost visible as they slip from their bodies. Fourteen year old girls with push-up bras and mini-skirts trot around the lingerie section with their new born babies, while barking insults at the kid who may or may not be the father, as he begs to be allowed to leave after the third hour. It truly is humankind’s worst offering to the retail universe.

Anyway, so there I was, thinking fond, warm thoughts about the fact that I would eventually be dead, and would never have to set foot in a shop like this again, when I came across a particular item. It was called the ‘Extreme Pushup’ bra, and it was “designed to majorly enhance a lacking cleavage”.

Lacking? As if not having cleavage is some sort of disfigurement. I looked at this heartbreaking abomination in horror. The padding on the bra was about two inches thick. I tried squeezing it, but wasn’t even able to make my fingers meet from either side of the air cushion. This could even make a man look like Pamela Anderson. Well, not completely like her, but you get my meaning.

It profoundly upset me. We don’t need this in our world. We don’t need people thinking that a bursting cleavage is what they’re supposed to have; that you can only ‘attract a man’ if you have your tits up under your chin. It’s utter nonsense. If you have large breasts, be proud. If you have small breasts, be proud. I get that if a girl is really upset about how she looks, or can’t help but compare herself to everyone else, then she can do whatever she wants to feel better; but sadly, knowing Primark, and seeing the bra chest sizes and being cynical about the world anyway, I know exactly who these bras are for. A twelve year old girl walking past with an apparently enormous rack is not something I want to see. She should be playing in mud or making her dolls bake cakes, or whatever; not being taught that if she doesn’t have double Ds hanging off of her chest, that she is inferior in some way, and will have a less fulfilled life because of it. She isn’t fooling anyone. The age at which children are being indoctrinated with sexualisation seems to be getting lower and lower. I dread to think where it will end, but I think we all know the kind of ‘incidences’ that are going to become more and more prevalent as this process continues.

Parents: Buy your kid a fucking tea set. Buy her a little ‘Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz’ frock. Buy her sweets and teddy bears and bicycles and dolls and whatever the hell else… Don’t buy her a push up bra with a matching g-string, and then be surprised when she gets knocked up at the edge of twelve, or assaulted at the age of thirteen.