My Grandkids Rang the Bell, and I Stood Behind My Own Front Door in a Ratty Sweatshirt, Too Embarrassed to Open It

At 67 I'd decided being uncomfortable was simply part of being a woman my age. Then my granddaughter mailed me a small box and proved me wrong.

It was a Saturday, a little after nine. I was still in the faded grey sweatshirt I sleep in, with nothing on underneath, when the doorbell went and I heard my grandson shout "Grandma!" through the letterbox.

My son had decided to surprise me.

And I stood in my own hallway with my hand on the door handle, and for a good ten seconds I thought about not answering. For my own grandchildren. Because I didn't feel fit to be seen.

I answered, of course, with my arms folded across my chest the whole visit. But I felt awful about it for days. If you're a woman of a certain age, I suspect you know exactly how I ended up in that hallway. I'm going to tell you anyway, because of what happened a fortnight later.

Forty Years of Fighting My Underwear

I have been at war with bras since I was fourteen.

By lunchtime the straps have cut grooves into my shoulders. The band grips my ribs every time I sit down, and by evening there's a red line across my back like I've been tied up. The cups gape, or pinch, or ride up, and I'm forever tugging at them in the restroom mirror.

Shopping for a new one is its own misery. I'd order three sizes online, keep one, send two back, wait for the refund, and discover within a week that the one I kept was no better.

So a few years ago I simply stopped. At home I lived in big soft t-shirts and sweatshirts, because at least they didn't hurt.

But here's what nobody says out loud. Even in my own house, in the softest thing I owned, I didn't feel dressed. Nobody wants everything moving around, least of all at our age. So I had two choices: uncomfortable in a bra, or uncomfortable without one.

That's how a 67-year-old grandmother ends up hiding behind her own front door.

The Box I Nearly Sent Straight Back

My granddaughter Emily must have noticed something that Saturday, because two weeks later a small parcel turned up on the porch.

Inside were three soft tank tops: light blue, white and a sort of warm beige. I rang her, confused. "Grandma," she said, "just try one. You don't wear a bra with it. The bra's in it."

I'll be honest. I rolled my eyes.

I've bought every "comfort bra" on the television. I've bought those camisoles with the little foam pads in a pocket that fold in half the first time you wash them and support precisely nothing. A tank top that replaces a bra, for a woman of my shape and my age? I said I'd try one so I wouldn't hurt her feelings, and I fully expected all three to go to the church thrift shop.

They sat on my dresser for four days.

Then one morning I pulled on the light blue one, turned to the mirror, and just stood there.

What Emily Knew That I Didn't

This isn't a camisole with a flimsy liner. It's made completely differently, and once I understood how, I understood why it worked.

Stitched into the front are proper shaped cups, sewn in all the way round. They can't slide, fold or bunch up, because they're part of the garment. That's where the support comes from.

What surprised me more was everything that isn't there:

• No band round your back. This is the thing I'd spent forty years trying to get away from, and it's simply gone. Nothing squeezes your ribs when you sit, and nothing makes a roll or a line under your clothes. The tank itself does the holding.
• No underwire. Nothing jabs you when you bend over the dishwasher.
• No hooks, no clasps. It goes on over your head and you're dressed. Ten seconds.
• No skinny straps. They're wide and flat. My left shoulder slopes, and I've spent my whole life shoving a strap back up it. These haven't moved once.

That first morning I put it on, made my coffee, did the crossword and watered the tomatoes. An hour later it dawned on me that something had happened which had never happened in my life with a bra: I'd forgotten I was wearing it.

So Why Had I Never Heard of It?

That was my next question. If this exists, why doesn't every woman I know own one?

I did some digging. It's a small outfit. There are no shops, no department-store rails and no TV adverts. They sell from their own website, and they've grown almost entirely by women telling other women: daughters buying them for mothers, sisters posting them to sisters, granddaughters like Emily.

There's another reason you haven't seen them: they can't keep them in stock. When I went back to order more, two of the colours I wanted were gone, and the site said restocks come roughly twice a month. Emily told me later she'd had to wait for a restock to buy mine.

A company that sells out twice a month doesn't need a billboard. So you're hearing about it the way everyone does, from another woman.

"Fine, But Does It Actually Hold You Up?"

That was my daughter-in-law's first question, and it's the right one. Soft is easy. Every "comfortable" thing I've ever bought was soft. Support is where they all fell down.

So here's my honest answer, eight months in: yes. Because the cups are sewn into the tank, they keep their shape and they keep you in place, all day long. It's real support, the kind I'd trust out of the house.

I've cooked in it, hoovered in it, knelt in the garden in it, chased two grandchildren round the yard in it and fallen asleep on the sofa in it. I've reached up to the top cupboard and bent down to the bottom drawer. Nothing shifts, nothing needs hitching up, and I never think about it. If you think about it, that's what support that works actually means.

And under a blouse it's invisible. There are no lines, no band showing through the back, no bulge. It's just smooth.

Don't Just Take My Word for It

Once I'd fallen for mine I went looking for what other women said. These are the ones that stopped me:

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The Part I Didn't See Coming

I assumed it would be my around-the-house top. It has become my everything top.

It's cut longer than an ordinary tank, long enough to tuck in or wear loose, and it doesn't creep up. The hem is properly finished, so it doesn't look like underwear. It looks like a clean, simple top. When I go out I put a cardigan over it and I look put-together while feeling exactly as comfortable as I do on the sofa.

The colours surprised me too. I expected black, white and beige, and they have those, plus a lovely light blue, a rich coffee brown and a deep burgundy. I get compliments on the light blue at church. The white goes first when they restock, because it goes under everything.

But the biggest change is the smallest one. When someone knocks now, I just open the door. I'm always dressed. That Saturday-morning feeling, hiding in my own hallway, is gone.

The Questions I Had (You'll Have Them Too)

If You're Going to Try One, Don't Make My Mistake

I loved my first three so much that I meant to order more "when I got round to it." When I finally did, the white, the one everyone told me to get, had sold out in my size, and I waited nearly three weeks for the restock email.

They sell out about twice a month, the popular colours and common sizes first. That's not a sales line. It's why Emily had to wait to buy my present, and why I had to wait for my second order.

So here's exactly what I'd do:

1. Tap the button below to see what's in stock right now.
2. Pick a colour for each tank. You can mix them, and order your usual top size.
3. Take the Buy 3 Get 2 Free if it's still showing. At $21 a tank it's the one everyone I know wishes they'd taken first time.
4. It comes to your door with free shipping and the 45-day guarantee. If anything's not right, they'll put it right. You risk nothing.

I'm 67. I spent four decades thinking discomfort was part of the deal. It isn't. We've earned the right to be comfortable all day, and this was made for exactly us.

The first thing I do every morning now is pull one of these over my head.

I haven't thought about a bra since.

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