Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, September 11, 1994                   TAG: 9409120036
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 6   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: By ROBIN GIVHAN DETROIT FREE PRESS
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

THE WONDERBRA IS HERE - AND IT WORKS

Except for my bra.

Not just any bra mind you - a breakthrough in modern cleavage technology.

The bra arrived via messenger, who knew not what great

possibilities lay hidden in the white paper bag he clutched in his hands. But I knew. My modest bosom was heaving in anticipation.

Perhaps you've heard of this marvel of lace, wire and precisely placed padding. The Wonderbra is here. And it works.

This is the bra that helped waif poster model Kate Moss to cleave. This is the bra that - after a bosom bulletin to parents - made an appearance on Good Morning, America. Testimonials to the power of this bra have appeared in such diverse publications as British Vogue and the New York Times.

This is the bra that is supposed to create mountains on plains, hills on an uninterrupted veld.

This is the bra previously available only to those women with the financial means to go to Europe and buy one. Its arrival in the United States is not without controversy. Or competition.

For nearly a quarter century, Gossard - a British company - cranked out Wonderbras. Thanks to the fashion transformation of underwear into outerwear - and women's undying preference for curves over angles - the Gossard Wonderbra flourished.

It flourished so much that Sara Lee Corp. - owner of the Wonderbra license - decided to retrieve it from Gossard in 1993. The Sara Lee Foundations Wonderbra will be available next fall. Gossard's high-tech bra - now called Gossard Super Uplift - is here now.

But a Wonderbra by any name still creates cleavage.

So, in the middle of my workday, I retreat to the women's room, Gossard bra in hand. I toss aside my pitifully low-tech white brassiere and slip into the raspberry pink creation.

And, oh my! We have liftoff.

Pushed up and shoved in, my bustline blossoms. Staring back from the mirror are two robust mounds. As I inspect the effect from all angles - left side, right side and the all-important overhead view - I see the ultimate evidence that cleavage has formed. I see shadow. I see gentle shading, mysteriously seductive chiaroscuro.

I don't want to don my shirt, so pleased am I with my new form. Friends who witness the transformation swear my demeanor is changed. I'm standing more erect, now that my bosom is reaching for the stars. I'm feeling sexier. Too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my job.

Visions of stiletto heels, low-cut gowns and black leather everything begin racing through my mind. I'm out of control. I have to remove the bra.

Returned to its more demure state, my chest is no longer the center of my world. But I am obsessed with cleavage.

I share this obsession with my colleagues. I rave about the bra.

Some are unimpressed. "It's just a padded bra," sniffs one. "You can accomplish the same thing with a little masking tape," shrugs another.

Liars all.

This is more than a mere padded bra. It doesn't just add volume; this bra adds focus. And a mess of raspberry lace is a whole lot sexier than strips of strategically placed duct tape.

I love this bra.

And I love cleavage. It looks good. Heck, it looks fabulous. Sure, you can be sexy without cleavage, but given the choice of sexy with cleavage or sexy without cleavage, I'll take the cleavage. (But hold the silicone and the saline, please.)

And please do not consider me a victim of a patriarchal society that demoralizes and objectifies women by assigning value to them based on their bra size. I am not defined by my breasts. I am empowered by them.

And with this bra, I certainly have a better view of them. Oh, my!