If you asked me to describe what inspired my boobs artwork, honestly? It started with a fascination, not so much with boobs themselves, but with the wordplay. I kept reading different names for boobs from all over the world and thinking: “Okay, these are gold. I need to draw them.” Names like “airbags,” “balloons,” “melons,” even “Danny Devitos”, who decided that? Who looked at a pair of breasts and thought, “Yes, these resemble a short bald man”? (Spoiler: someone very creative.) So, I picked up my ipad and decided to immortalise those lumps that not only look cute but also carry the spirit of every ridiculous, affectionate, or cheeky word for breasts that I’ve ever read.

My relationship with my boobs (yes, I have one)

Full transparency: I am very much a butt person. [Insert dramatic gasp here.] It’s just where my gaze naturally lands, okay? But I love boobs. And not just in a “wow, they’re nice to look at” way. I have a personal history with mine.

I always thought mine were a little too far apart, even the most sturdy push up bra struggled to give me any hopes of an impressive cleavage. Like shy wallflowers at a party, politely keeping their distance. Then along came Elaine (my wife), she has spent years praising my boobs with the enthusiasm of someone reviewing a Michelin-starred meal. She basically did a sixteen-year confidence workshop without realising she was even running one.

Mammaries of any kind are her favourite things in the world, and after so many years together I have begun to finally appreciate the joy of the tiddy.

Why wordplay inspired me more than the boobs themselves

I love a well crafted, funny synonym and went  looking for as many names for boobs as I could find. I stumbled across the wonderful deep dive done by Pour Moi, which mapped dozens of boob nicknames across cultures. (www.pourmoi.co.uk). This cemented that boobs are weird, but words are weirder and that weirdness is absolutely art-worthy. It felt poetic and just bizarre enough to be completely worthy of being turned into art. 

What I learned from all the boob nicknames (and why I actually give a damn)

This whole boob-naming thing taught me more about bodies, language, and culture than I expected. Here are some gems:

1. Nicknames are power-plays wrapped in humour.

When people call boobs “Mario and Luigi,” “headlights,” or “cans,” they’re not just making a joke, they’re making language theirs. There’s something warm, playful, and deeply human in how people choose to nickname the parts of their body.

2. It’s a global conversation.

Boobs don’t just mean “boobs” to everyone. In some cultures, they’re fruit; in others, they’re plates; in a few places, they’re magical cauldrons. 

3. Names change how you feel about your body.

I started thinking: if other people call them “melons” or “pacifiers” (depending on where they’re from), maybe I can call mine whatever I like, and that matters. There’s joy in giving them a name you own.

4. Humour is absolutely valid in self-love.

This isn’t just art for wall decor, it’s a reminder that being serious about loving your body doesn’t mean you have to be serious about everything else. You can laugh and you can hang them on your wall with pride.

How the art style brings that wordplay to life

That wordplay got sewn into the very fibres of what I drew. My boobs print isn’t just two lines and a nipple; it’s a small, joyful nod to all the ways people around the world describe the soft, powerful things we carry on our chests. It’s an artwork born of translation, metaphor, humour, and love.

When I first sat down to draw, I knew I didn’t want super-realistic boobs, that's not my style. No hyper-detail, no shading drama. Minimal lines let the imagination do a lot of work (because half the fun is imagining what “bazookas” or “fried eggs” might look like if boobs took on those forms). They also allow the weird, punny energy of those global nicknames to shine through, as if the boobs are whispering: Yes, I could be a balloon, but look at me now.

The simplicity gives the print a universal appeal. It’s not sweet or saccharine, it’s bold, playful, warm, and definitely queer. You can hang it in a bedroom, a studio, or even a bathroom and it feels like a small, confident declaration: “Yes, these are my boobs. And yes, they deserve a name.”

How my boobs print connects to you (and why it might matter to you, too)

Even if you’re not obsessed with your own boobs (or maybe like me, you’re more into butts), there’s something universal here:

If you love language, you’ll appreciate the names, the wordplay, the metaphor. This print is a tribute to the global weirdness of boob slang.

Personal story baked in. These lines are infused with my journey,  from doubting my own boobs to loving them, thanks to someone who saw beauty where I saw weird spacing.

If you’ve struggled with body confidence, especially around your boob shape or spacing, know that you are not alone.

If you love art that’s funny, queer, and deeply human, this piece fits.

If you just enjoy a cheeky reminder (pun very intended) that your body is yours to name, love, and celebrate, then this print is for you.

Art with attitude. These aren’t shy, hiding boobs, they’re proudly here, unapologetic, named, and drawn with a smirk.

Why this print might actually matter to you (even if you’re not a boob superfan)

Look, if you’re going to pay for a print of boobs, you might as well get a statement. This is not bedroom-wall cliche; this is a little manifesto in ink.

In the end, what I drew wasn’t just boobs, it was a map of love, a small rebellion in line and form. It’s a celebration of how language and body meet, of how we talk about ourselves and how the world talks about us. It’s a bit silly, a bit wise, and totally mine.

If my little illustrated boobs have made you grin, or if your own body has whispered, “That could be me,” then go ahead and grab one of these prints from my shop. Hang it somewhere you’ll see it every day. Let it remind you of all the names that exist for you, of all the ways you can love yourself, and of how utterly brilliant your body is.

Because, whether they’re called “melons,” “fried eggs,” “bazookas,” or just “the girls,” they deserve celebration.