When I was working in the production illustration department at Boeing years ago, there was a young woman who came through the department a couple of times a week carrying drawings to the blueprint machine to have them blueprinted. She was about five feet six or seven and generally well-proportion—except that she had a bustline that looked like she was smuggling (I'm not kidding!) a pair of basketballs. There were a few guys in the department who were juvenile enough to gawk and giggle and nudge each other and make comments. I'm sure she was aware of this, and she always looked to me as if she were in a perpetual state of embarrassment.
I—and a few other guys, and women, too—felt embarrassed for her because with that kind of "endowment," she couldn't go anywhere without running into the same kind of stares and snickers. She was definitely a candidate for breast-reduction surgery, but this is hardly something that a guy can walk up to a woman and suggest. . . .
Why someone would deliberately do something like that to herself and consider it attractive (attractive to what kind of man!?), I will never understand.