I am impressed by the persuasive power of cleavage.
If you think about it, cleavage nothing. It’s literally the empty space between two objects. You put any other two objects together and the space between them is dull and uninteresting. But if those objects happen to be breasts, suddenly that space has the power to start wars.
I remember my first encounter with cleavage. I was watching Lois & Clark, a show about Lois Lane and Clark Kent (Superman). The open scene was kind of hokey, and I was considering changing the channel. But then the opening credits ran, and Teri Hatcher comes tumbling down this trapdoor. She looks up, revealing a length of cleavage as endless as puberty.
I must watch this show, I thought.
In fact, there are hundreds of shows that no one would watch if not for cleavage. Jersey Shore. Desperate Housewives. Survivor. Rachael Ray. Sesame Street.
I’m still on Match.com, and every day Match sends me their “Daily 5” matches, which almost always amounts to 7 women, not 5. So I skim the profiles and the stats and the photos. And it’s amazing to me what a single cleavage photo can do. Nothing trashy, just the hint of cleavage. I can get all the way through a boring profile (“I like to have fun! Yay!”) and flip through 14 ho-hum photos, and I get to that last photo and pause.
Wait, is that cleavage? I must meet this woman.
I would go as far as to say that cleavage is the number one motivator for men to do most things. You think we like going to symphonies and plays and musicals and the ballet? Nope. What we do like is the possibility of cleavage involved in those fancy dresses women wear to such events.
In some ways I can see people interpreting this post as me objectifying women. Rather, this is an ode to the power of cleavage. I’m in awe of cleavage. Nothing I can offer will ever have the persuasive power that cleavage does.
So cleavage, I tip my hat to you. Wherever you go, I will follow.