Until recently, chest binders — an item of clothing used to flatten the breasts — weren’t part of the mainstream lexicon.
The ongoing transgender debate has brought the subject to the forefront this year. Also, the Netflix series Sex Education 3, which featured a character reducing their breasts using bandages, is bringing attention to the issue. A few months ago, Emma Corrin, best known for her Golden Globe-winning turn as Princess Diana in The Crown, caused a stir by sharing photos with boxing wrap tied around her torso, captioned: ‘Some time before I bought my first binder.’
Supporters of binders claim the garment can help people identify and feel more confident. How would you react if your child demanded one?
Clare Macnaughton from Warminster (Wiltshire), a 49-year old author, shares the bravely open story of her feelings when Macc 13, a teenager who identified as not-binary (neither male nor female), began wearing a chest binder six months ago. Macc replies below. It is. .
Clare Macnaughton (49), from Warminster in Wiltshire describes the emotions she had when Macc 13, a teenager who identified as non-binary started wearing a chest binder six months ago. Pictured: Actress Emma Corrin’s intimate post
Clare says:
Macc was born to a girl. Macc loved ponies, dolls, and long hair.
Macc first suggested the idea of a lockdown in an early stage. We were on our way back to the stables from which Macc had been riding since the age six. Macc announced: ‘I’m just trying to work out what gender I am.’
A true understatement would be to say I was stunned. I answered: ‘Well, it’s not like Woolworth’s pick and mix, you don’t just choose one. If you’ve got gender dysphoria [the sense of unease a person may have because of a mismatch between their biological sex and their gender identity], then that’s quite a serious issue and needs to be explored.
‘We don’t just go: “Oh, you know, today I’m feeling like a boy.” Or maybe we do, but this isn’t a casual conversation we have on the way back from horse-riding. It’s a big thing.’
Macc told me that their reaction to my upsetting was unsupportive. They retreated for some time before being able to bring the topic back up.
For me, it was probably a phase that I had experienced due to the combination of my puberty and the strangeness of the pandemic.
It was August in that year when I first encountered a chest binder. Our friend, a child transitioning from male to female, and I went with her to Limousin to see if she had one. I didn’t ask many questions, or pay it much heed, as I didn’t want to embarrass the child.
Then, around this time last year, over dinner one evening, Macc announced to the family: ‘I don’t feel like a girl any more, nor do I feel like a boy — which makes me non-binary. My birth name is not acceptable. [now referred to as a ‘dead name’] and call me Macc.’ It is the name of a horse at the stables, but also a derivative of our surname, a bit like a nickname, which made it easier.
Clare said having spent the previous 12 years raising a daughter, adapting to Macc’s requested pronouns, they and he, was hard. Pictured: Mum Clare and Macc
Having spent the previous 12 years raising a daughter, adapting to Macc’s requested pronouns, they and he, was hard and I still slip up today and say ‘she’. Macc never puts me wrong, but is understanding.
I’m no ‘Hyacinth Bouquet’, I like to think I’m pretty free-thinking, but even I struggle to get my head around it all — though I know I must, for the sake of my child. While it might seem more difficult to handle emotionally from the outside view, teenagers can present many different challenges and have their own phases. Macc’s dad and I agree the most important thing is to stay strong and supportive. We don’t want this to turn into a mental-health emergency.
Also, we’ve adapted to the changes in our child in stages. In the preceding months, Macc’s long hair was cut into a bob — it’s now short, spiky and red — and Macc wore only androgynous clothes, including trousers, instead of a skirt, as part of their school uniform, so the transition felt gradual.
But I hadn’t even thought about binders until this May when Macc said: ‘Mum, I hate my breasts! Please can you buy me a binder?’
Macc wasn’t unhappy about her body. This is something no parent wants to hear, but it was what Macc needed. I might have done the same at that age, if I’d felt it was an option, though the older I’ve got, the more I’ve embraced and enjoy my femininity.
In the beginning, I believed it to be a phase. – Clare
Macc created this nonbinary personality, I thought, in order to avoid social pressures when you reach puberty.
Macc says I’m wrong, that it’s ‘who they are’. It’s rare for teens to believe that their parents are correct about anything.
As a feminist I still struggle with Macc’s refusal to be female by being chest bound, but understand that someone might want the benefits of presenting as a male. Also, I feel the need for some aspects of being female to make it easier and more difficult for girls.
I was mulling over all of this. However, when it comes to teenagers — we also have an 18-year-old son who now lives away from home — I’ve learned it’s best not to over-react to the point they dig their heels in.
So, while I would never attempt to forbid something like this, I wouldn’t be instrumental in it either. Macc gets £30 a month for pocket money, so I said: ‘If you want to buy a binder, you’ve got pocket money and that’s what it’s there for, to buy things you choose, for yourself.’
Clare stated that Macc, when she first saw her binder, was walking from bedroom to toilet in the shorts and it. Macc in her childhood
That same evening Macc ordered a £12 black chest binder from Amazon — a tight crop top-style garment in heavy, bodice material, with hooks and eyes down one side, that fits tautly and flattens the chest.
It arrived two days later. In the interim I went online and found some interesting information.
Logic dictates that, if you strap down a body part that’s not meant to be strapped down, it can’t be good for you. Binders can cause chest, back, and skin problems.
Avoiding these dangers, it is recommended to wear them for no longer than 8 hours daily and have binder-free at most one day per week. Macc was kind enough to relay my concerns and promise to not exceed that recommended wear-time. Macc like all the other members of his family prefers comfort over fashion, and loves getting straight into pyjamas.
Macc, who was wearing the binder and shorts, went from his bedroom to the bathroom first time that I saw it. It wasn’t a shocking, or repulsive, sight to me as it looked like a shiny vest and, as Macc is not yet very well-endowed, there’s not much to hide.
Friends have been very supportive, though Macc’s non-binary status is not something we really discuss with extended family.
Macc told the head of house at school about the name change and new pronouns — I explained that this was their journey and I wasn’t going to be the one to initiate these steps — and Macc was referred to a counsellor.
When it became clear that Macc had committed to these modifications, I was asked for my written permission to make the necessary changes to the Register. I granted this request.
People often ask me if we are grieving for the daughter Macc no longer wants to be and, the truth is, we chose the birth name we gave them because we loved it, so it’s sad our child doesn’t want to be called that any more.
However, in terms of the person that Macc is becoming, binder and all, it’s just an evolution of the person they were. We’ve had 18 months to adapt and our child is still very much here.
Clare said she wants her children to have the freedom to do and be whatever they want, but has also explained to Macc other people may not be so accepting. Macc, as a child
I never had fantasies about big weddings with me the mother-of-the-bride — I’d rather my children travelled and Macc is planning on one day moving into a commune on a smallholding in Scotland with other non-binary people. I want my children to have the freedom to do and be whatever they want, but I’ve also explained that we are currently living in a very supportive bubble, of home and school — and, once Macc is out in the world, people may not be so accepting.
About a week ago, as I was tucking myself into bed one night, Macc came in and said: ‘Yeah, I’m gonna cut my t**s off.’
Macc meant have surgery at some point in the future, rather than a drastic act of self-mutilation, but I still said: ‘I think you’d regret it, but this is not a conversation to be had at ten at night.’
I wouldn’t sanction any transitioning treatments — no testosterone, no drugs, no surgery — while I have parental responsibility for Macc. If that’s something they want when they’re 18, they can make that decision as an adult.
I brought the subject up when we were in the car, a few days later saying: ‘It would cost £5,000 per breast, so, if you had £10,000, would you have your breasts cut off or would you buy a horse?’
Macc said they’ve wanted a horse for longer than they’ve wanted their breasts removed — in fact, they once put together a whole PowerPoint presentation to try to convince me to buy one — so a horse it would be.
Online: You can order chest binders online
I’m grateful that Macc’s love of horses is a constant throughout this challenging time, as they are such mood-lifters.
I think the introspection that comes with constantly questioning one’s gender is unhealthy, even narcissistic at times, and the beauty of horses is that they force you to be outward-looking.
Who can say how Macc is going to feel about all of this, and whether the binder will still be there, in a few years’ time?
All I know is that my child still loves horses and wants to dress the Christmas tree again this year in the way we’ve always done it.
So, for the moment, all we’re dealing with is a teenager who’s calling themself by a different name and binding their chest.
Macc says
Mum likes to say that I’m rejecting womanhood by binding my boobs. But, in fact, my feelings are much stronger than that: I actually hate having them and can’t bear looking at myself naked any more.
Even though my chest is not big, I can’t even glance at myself in the mirror when I’m dressed, unless I’m wearing a binder.
Because my shape naturally is feminine, with curvy hips & thighs, I prefer to wear baggy clothing that conceals all of that. I feel like my natural shape should be more boyish, straight up and down, and so that’s the illusion I want the binder to help create.
It is ironic that I was 11 years old when I began to grow breasts. I had been the only person in my friendship group who wasn’t developing at all — some of my friends had already got their period — and I felt like a late bloomer.
Macc (pictured) began dressing more masculine, in joggers and hoodies after age 12
But then (aged 12), I realised I was a lesbian — although I don’t use that term now because it is feminine and I am non-binary — and the thought of being with a boy is gross. In order to be more attractive to girls I decided to dress more masculinely, wearing hoodies and joggers.
Before long, I started to hate my body, hate the feminine parts of myself, and started asking: ‘What if I don’t want to be a girl?’ I decided I didn’t, but didn’t want to be a boy either.
I knew someone who came to France with us who wore a binder, but I didn’t know what they were for. When I watched a TikTok clip about binders, it was then that all of this made sense.
I hated my boobs, I didn’t want them, so I thought: ‘I’ll buy a binder and get rid of them.’
Some nights I am so angry at myself that I don’t want to wear the binder. Other times, I find I like it better. It actually makes me feel happy to have the binder on. The illusion is that I can look and feel the way I desire in my body.
I wear it for school most days but I can’t for PE. I tried once, but started wheezing — I couldn’t breathe properly and had to stop.
Mum likes to say that I’m rejecting womanhood but my feelings are much stronger than that Macc
I’ve heard there can be risks and I can feel it compressing my lungs when I put it on as tight as possible. So, as long as I avoid doing that, I’ll be OK. I don’t wear it for more than eight hours at a time and at home I can go without it, if I don’t look at my chest, so I don’t get rashes or sores.
When I’m riding I can’t wear it, as it interferes with my breathing. A chest protector is what I use to protect my ribs in the event of a fall. They’re tailored to your body, so kind of flatten your chest, which is good.
I’m probably the smallest bra size possible, an A cup, but I’m terrified about them getting bigger and harder to hide, but hopefully the binder will still work.
As soon as I can, I’ll have them removed — thinking about that makes me feel excited for the future. I’m going to move to Scotland and have loads of fun and I won’t have t**s any more.
When I picture myself as an adult I’m wearing androgynous clothes, cargo pants and hoodies, and will definitely have ‘they’ in my pronouns. ‘He’ might come after. I just don’t want ‘she’ at all.
And, until I can have the surgery, I’ll wear a binder.
I don’t need to think about breastfeeding in the future because I don’t want to get pregnant. If I have children I want my partner to carry them.
My friends are really positive and supportive — most of them are in the LGBTQ+ community, too, so they happily use my new pronouns and name. Also, my class is amazing. My classmates all refer to me as Macc.
The only negativity I’ve experienced came from the older year groups. My friends and I stand near where the year-ten kids hang out and we’ve been called names by some of them. They’ve stopped now. I think they got bored because they didn’t get a reaction.
Mum says that I’m living in a protective bubble and have to be prepared to encounter bigoted people in the world. I tell her that’s one reason my binder is so important to me: when I’m wearing it, I’m not defined by the female gender I was born with and, if people assume I’m a boy, so be it. If they take the time to ask, I will, of course, tell them I’m non-binary.