Breast Enhancement Photography

Coconut joins us from the West Coast and below is her inaugural work!

I’ve wanted to be the Los Angeles personification of Carrie Bradshaw since I watched my first episode of Sex and the City at 16 years old. Of course, this implied that I wanted more than just the sex columnist job; I wanted the Manolos, the sex, the love, the friends and the cameras following me around showing my fascinating story to anyone willing to watch.

  My opportunity came at age 20, when I became the ‘sex, love and relationships columnist’ at UCLA.

  My introductory, self approved topic was based on my own current sexual dilemma: having sex with my ex. I didn’t want to be anything like the sex columnist before me, who seemed to preach about masturbation on a weekly basis, and I also didn’t want to seem like sex-know-it-all, dishing out rules on what good sex is supposed to be like.

  I though that by sharing some personal details and using the word sex numerous times, I could catch the reader’s attention automatically and develop a reputable following. Turns out, I really didn’t need to do any of that to gain such a following.

  It was actually my boobs that did the trick.

  Every columnist in the viewpoint section of the Daily Bruin must take a ‘mug-shot’ to be printed next to each of their columns printed in the paper. Every single writer in the history of the Bruin has been photographed from neck up, revealing nothing more than a goofy smile or stylish glasses.

  My picture is quite different. I received 30 frames where I was photographed from the ribs up. Then the photo/design department gave quite a bit of time and Photoshop effort to my mug shot. The end result was a thinned out, breast-enhanced version of myself that even plastic surgery couldn’t achieve.

  I got what I wanted. I was a virtual Ms. Bradshaw.  Some people loved me and some hated me, but both categories were equally vocal.

  If Sex and the City had granted its viewers the pleasure of seeing Carrie’s inbox, her apparent popularity would have lost some of its rank. Assuming hers would look anything like mine, it would be filled with everything from death threats to marriage proposals.

  With my boobs two cup sizes larger and my arms looking 15 pounds thinner I embarked on my wonderful, yet over-sexualized, journey via UCLA journalism. Anywhere my writing takes me, my boobs always arrive first. But I’ve come to terms with it because my cynical side predicts I get more readers this way.

  I’m years away from plastic surgery. My choice of cosmetics is now Photoshop.