Loosen up that top, ladies! It’s National Cleavage Day! And I, your resident unapologetically perverted capitalist, am here to fist-pump in approval.

National Cleavage Day is a celebration of pushing bosoms out and together in a brassier. For the founders of the holiday, Wonderbra and South American Cosmopolitan, it’s a celebration of greater profits.

That’s the reality. Here’s the empowerment fairy dust.

This year the Sun reported that it is “held annually to celebrate women’s independence and power in their careers and relationships.” Wonderbra PR consultant Anita Meiring described it as “a day for women to realise that their cleavage is something unique and that they should be proud of it.” Finally, brand manager Samantha Paterson said “it gives women a chance to be beautiful and glow in the furtive, yet appreciative, glances their cleavage evokes from men.”

Does a holiday about boobs need to be so multi-faceted?

Caperton at feministe.us had this say about it:

Listen: If you want to flash your tits, just flash your tits. I’m serious. You don’t need my permission or the endorsement of a national holiday. Whether you want to court the male gaze or the female gaze or your own gaze, it’s not mine to tell you not to (although I might anyway). But be straight about it: You’re taking your boobs out because you want to take your boobs out.

I’m suddenly reminded of a protest movement in which women are equally as scantily clad: SlutWalks. Apparently it’s ludicrous to show off your boobs on a holiday dreamed up by corporations. However, women dressed in similar attire, holding up protests signs are to be taken seriously. Is the spectacle really that different to the uninitiated (barring the attractiveness of the participants)?

Although it irks me that Wonderbra needs useful idiots to peddle their wares, I prefer this to SlutWalks. The reason is simple – the women don’t have scowls on their faces. It’s refreshing to see women celebrate their sexuality without tearing down men in the process. Contrary to the teachings of radical feminism, only a tiny percentage of men are rapists. Signs with slogans like “real men don’t rape,” “my body is not an invitation,” and “it’s a dress, not a yes,” have no effect on anti-social criminals. Instead, the angry chants alienate good men.

Typical SlutWalkers:

Ann Summers gang in London (National Cleavage Day):

Which posse would you rather party with, brethren? It isn’t even close.