I used to be able to buy bras in a town twelve miles from my home. The store was an outlet, with huge inventory, low ambiance, and kind matrons who helped me to a good fit.
“Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders,” we called the barely-there bras we wore in seventh grade, when our newly emergent breasts were firm peaches. After nursing babies and decades of gravity, however, “the girls” require wired support. But alas, the outlet store closed.
A thriving local economy is one that sells underwear.
There are still a couple of local boutiques that offer lingerie—more show than structure—and secondhand shops don’t sell used underwear.
“You can by bras online,” a daughter told me.
I’ve resisted online shopping. I want to support local commerce the way I support local food. But with the outlet for underwear gone, and now the one-time outdoor outfitters closed, I either have to drive across state lines or shop online.
My first choice is to purchase directly from the manufacturer. But occasionally, I do purchase something from the behemoth named for a river that flows through a jungle famed for biodiversity. Among other threats, this jungle suffers from environmental damage from the demand, packaging, and delivery of consumer goods.
Desperate for support, I braved a 6-lane surface road to a big box store in Bozeman, Montana, and left with a well-fitting supply of sturdy, supportive, bras—a wardrobe essential.
Just to be clear: I didn’t fly to Bozeman to buy bras. My grandchildren live there.
On my return home from the airport, I passed a new, multi-acre fulfillment center going up where barns used to stand in open fields.
It is still possible to purchase useful and necessary items of everyday life in the nearby shopping town, which is home to secondhand shops for clothing, furniture, housewares, and used books. There’s also a hardware store stocked with loose nuts and screws; a store that sells farm supplies; and not just one, but two independent bookstores offering newly published books.
But there’s no place to buy what the matrons who worked at the underwear outlet called foundations. A thriving local economy, I argue, is one that stocks underwear.
You can receive Living in Place by email by subscribing to my Substage page here. It’s free!
