Hooter Hoo-Ha

I surprised myself recently when I realised I didn’t care whether Boobs On Bikes went ahead or not. Words: Michele A’Court

This is the annual Auckland ‘parade’ organised by local pornographer, Steve Crow, to promote his Erotica Lifestyles Expo. It features topless porn stars riding on the back of Harleys. It’s not terribly creative. If you ever head down to Queen St to see it - or to Christchurch and shortly to Wellington later this year - don’t expect a taste of Mardi Gras, a bit of burlesque or a touch of Moulin Rouge. It’s just girls with their tops off.

Mr Crow says it’s about freedom of speech. The Auckland City Council says it’s just free advertising for his business, and fundamentally offensive. The Council sought an injunction (unsuccessfully) to stop it. Some individual councillors said they felt so strongly, they considered lying on the road to stop its progress. In the end, they held their much smaller protest rally at the same time.

Twenty-five years ago I might have joined them. Not because I think women’s breasts are offensive. I think they’re delightful - I admire a good cleavage on other women, and I’ve been known to joyfully dress mine up for an evening out.

And I’m all for breastfeeding in public. In fact, I think it should be compulsory. I remember my lovely African nurse at National Women’s explaining the reason so many of us Western women had trouble learning to breastfeed was that we hadn’t seen it done enough. She argued that nursing mothers who hid themselves behind closed doors were denying future mothers an important lesson - a demonstration - in how breastfeeding was done. She thought it was odd that we needed books and graphics and one-on-one assistance to do something so natural.

I also remember feeling terribly sad that a young cousin refused to breastfeed her baby because she thought suckling was somehow sexual, and not an appropriate behaviour between mother and child. Clearly, my African nurse had a point.

And I wish I didn’t have to travel to the Algarve Coast to lie on the beach with my top off - though it seems now I might get to do that on the Kapiti Coast, where the council has just announced a plan to create an official nudist enclave there. Pity about the un-Mediterranean climate! I believe last year in the Wellington province, summer was on a Tuesday.

To me, topless on a beach is about freedom. Not in a ‘look at my tits - they’re for you’ way (as with the boobs on the bikes down the main street) but in a ‘don’t look at my tits – they’re just for me’ way. Like most Kiwis, I grew up at the beach, but I have never felt as relaxed as I did in Portugal, surrounded by other women of a certain age, all of us dimpled and scarred and pendulous, getting an all-over tan while our kids (who had caused most of this) paddled in the surf. As the years go by, much of your life is written on your body. It’s nice not to feel you have to hide it all away.

Back home, I can’t help feeling there is something strangely adolescent about a country that gets all twitchy about catching a glimpse of women’s breasts.

But back in the 1980s, I would have protested against Boobs On Bikes because it objectifies women, and presents them as one-dimensional dollies who exist only for the titillation of men. I would have been worried that all men would see all women this way, and I would have wanted to make the point that women are clever and capable and intelligent, and deserve to be treated with dignity and respect for who they are, not how they look. I might also have felt moved to point out that just taking your shirt off doesn’t make a ‘parade’.

Twenty-five years later, I think we know that most women are clever and capable and intelligent people. But here’s something else I have come to realise: some women really are one-dimensional dollies who exist only for the titillation of men. I’m OK with them getting their tits out on the back of a bike. Especially in winter! You can lead a woman to equal opportunities, but you can’t make her drink.

But if I had a choice, here’s the parade I would like to see: topless women with real breasts - the way they look after raising kids, surviving illness, living a life - marching down main street to raise money and awareness for breast cancer research and treatment - drooping, scarred, missing, reconstructed. The bikes would be optional and we would definitely do it in summer.