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Bra-burning never happened. It was completely made up by the media. A couple of women protesting a Miss America pageant threw some bras into a garbage can, and somehow that became this longstanding idea of feminists as bra-burners.
I have loads of underwear, but only wear the bras because I never wear knickers.
On a good night, I get underwear, bras, and hotel-room keys thrown onstage... You start to think that you're Tom Jones.
In 'Bras & Broomsticks,' Rachel Weinstein gets the shock of her life when she discovers that her mom and her younger sister, Miri, are both... witches! In 'Frogs & French Kisses,' Rachel and her witchy family are back - Miri is busy zapping up ways to save the world, while Mom has gone boy crazy and become a magicaholic.
Nothing shocks me anymore. I've embraced men in thongs, I've embraced women with padded bras. I mean, I can embrace Larry King saying 'fierce.'
There was just this amazing individuality. It's just a whole different world of optimism and fearlessness, women taking off their bras and dancing around naked, and a political hopefulness and involvement.
I have had fans make me the big picture collages of the photo books; I have had fans send me birthday cakes... sing to me on my voicemail. I have had fans flash me. I have had older fans give me their bras and underwear onstage.
The unsaid message of that endless rack of juniors' pushup bras? No matter what size you are, it still isn't good enough.
I grew up in Long Island City. When I was growing up, my parents owned a women's clothing store in Queens. It was for older women. I got my bras there, until I realized I didn't want those huge, taupe bras. Everything was beige, with massive amounts of hooks.
We only have one agenda, which is to make 'em laugh their pants off. Unless they are girls, of course, when it is to make them laugh their bras off so we can get a quick look.