Looking down at my excuse-for-a-woman’s-pride of a chest, I feel particularly apologetic about my lack of wholesomeness.  The very assets that are the pinnacle of womanhood; the prominent markers of motherhood – as they expand rather noticeably in size and appear as if waiting to burst – are missing from my upper torso, replaced by a mid-priced ‘boob boosting’ bra and a lame late developer excuse. I envision a sign: ‘BOOB JOB’ complete with surrounding flashing bulbs. But wait. Formerly from a legal background, where there’s a wrong, I’ll be vying to rectify it but in the case of cosmetic surgery and in particular breast augmentation, I’m a bit of a backseat taker. If presented with the opportunity, I’d ponder and pedantically deliberate over the ifs and buts and the possible side effects of having two gigantic silicone slabs stuffed into my chest area; but that’s not to say it’s a bad idea, or an aesthetically unsound one. Just like veneers to an unsightly smile or pinning back prominent ears, the confidence boost breast augmentation provides – albeit on a more intimate level – is immense. For me, gargantuan. But as with most transformations, there exists polarised preferences. Drastic cup size increases as witnessed in the form of bewildered bosom owner Chloe from TOWIE, a mismatch of botched cosmetic enhancements including a pair of recently rectified veneers, or yo-yo cosmetic surgery addict Katie Price who underwent extreme augmentation during her glamour heydays, carrying a painfully hefty 32FF pair, only to downsize to a more natural looking 32D in 2007. Enter a rather swell-looking Heidi Montag, too, after The Hills star became bosom pals with the plastic surgeon’s scalpel (pardon the pun) and decided to envision an ‘upgraded version’ of herself by taking her A cups to a 32C. But depending […]