It started with a Facebook notification, as all great love - sorry, internet - stories do. A friend of a friend of a friend had tagged me in a post. Intrigued (I mean, who gets legit FB notifications anymore?), I clicked that devilish red bulletin quicker than you could say 'disco tits', only to discover that my actual tits were sprawled all over the pages of - wait for it - Lad Bible.
'This Nipple Fashion Craze Is Completely Ridiculous', the headline read. (Ridiculous?! Rude.) And then another: 'Latest Nipple Craze Shows Fashion Has Gone Too Far', courtesy of UniLad. (If by 'too far' you mean 'not far enough' then we are in agreeance.) And then another! 'The Newest Craze 'Glitter Nipples' Is The Hottest Waste Of Time Yet'; at least that's according to Crave Online. (I guess 'hottest' waste of time is better than a straight-up waste of time?) And then, lo and behold, another: 'Are YOU brave enough to rock glitter nipples?' Affirmative, MailOnline.
Confused? Allow me to provide some backstory. Cue dream sequence music...
It was the summer of 2K16 and I was living the high life, sprawled on a daybed poolside in Mykonos (v cliche, I know), gorging on Caitlin Moran (the works; not the woman) and debating the appropriateness of deploying the titty equivalent of dropping trou among an intimate gathering of fellow day bed-ers. There were five couples in total, each as sickeningly golden as the next, and they were clad in intricate cossies and thigh-clinging trunks. Could I drop top in front of these people? Would that be weird? It was a pretty private poolside situation but did the intimacy make going topless all the more strange? After throwing my boyfriend's bare nipples a dirty look (you carry on lapping up that Vitamin D, guys), I returned to the safety of our apartment and lamented the unfairness of it all. And that's when it hit me! A shard of light temporarily blinded my sweaty eyeball, and my gaze was drawn to the source: a pair of gold nipple tassels I'd stashed on the shelf, intended to be worn with a sheer dress later that eve. Could I...?! Should I...?! Oh, fuck it... I SHALL! I plastered those sequin tassels to my tits and gleamed with delight at my newly upgraded nipples. 'Majestic!', I thought. 'I look fucking MAJESTIC.'
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship and the dawning of a new hashtag: #discotits. With my head held high and my nipples held higher (thanks, adhesive!), I strode back to the daybed and scoffed at my boyfriend's bare nipples. Ha! Pitiful! Enjoy your Vitamin D, you sequin-less schmucks! Naturally, I implored my boyfriend to photographically document my genius (read: boobs).
It was this moment of sheer summer-born brilliance that sparked a moment of internet virality (that's a word, right?) and earned me short-lived notoriety as a proud purveyor of disco tits. In a sentence, I never thought I'd have reason to type: my 32a's were the talk of the town! Whodathunkit! When they weren't openly dismayed at the size of the rack presented to them (sorry, lads), the commenters varied from gals screaming 'YAAAAAAAAAS!' through the keyboard to bemused onlookers stating that my tits weren't 'their cup of tea but each to their own'. Polite enough, I guess.
But that's not all! Oh no, no. My fifteen minutes also served as a springboard for something even more brilliant: a collaboration with long-time disco tits enthusiast (not her official title, although it should be) Ruth Melbourne. Together we set about serving up Swarovski-covered nipple pasties and slammin’ jewellery for every appendage. Maybe you're in the market for a pair of bedazzled boobs. Maybe you fancy throwing your ankles a pendent party. Maybe you see star-spangled body chains in your future. Maybe your neck is crying out for a crystal choker. Whatever your predilection, we’ve got your back (and your neck, and your boobs, and so on and so forth.)
Describe the collection in three words, you say? 'Add to basket'. Now please go forth and enjoy the embellished fruits of our labour. Maybe you'll end up going viral, too.
Main image courtesy of Ruth Melbourne/Daisy Keens by Rich Barr
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Follow Daisy on Instagram @pieandfash
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.