I love my boobs. They’re squidgy and comforting, like cashmere stress balls. Sitting at home, I’ll regularly slip my hand inside my bra and give them a little squeeze.

I might sound like a teenage boy who’s woken up in a teenage girl’s body but actually, no, I’m a woman in my thirties and I’ve just had a boob job.

I’m not a glamour model, or on TOWIE. I haven’t had a mastectomy and I wasn’t born without breast tissue. I wasn’t even flat chested. I just wanted lovely, bouncy DD boobs.

Contrary to recent suggestions by ‘experts’, I didn’t get them done as a response to fashion trends or advertising images. Nor was my decision fuelled by porn or pictures of Jodie Marsh.

I do accept that none of us live in an isolated bubble and according to “drip drip” media theory, perhaps we’re all susceptible to the influences of popular culture, over a period of time. That said, I’m an intelligent, well-educated woman who’s read more feminist theorem than Heat, Closer or Cosmo.

As a teenager, I grew up on a literary diet of Betty Friedan and Simone de Beauvoir. Turning 20, I read Germaine Greer, Naomi Wolf and watched multiple performances of The Vagina Monologues. I wrote my dissertation during my English degree on the Bridget Jones phenomenon, frequenting All Bar One and other popular drinking holes to bother any woman in reach of a Chardonnay, for her views on the representation of women in Chick Lit. My work has since been quoted in a textbook on gender studies.

I’ve even been described as “extremist” in my feminist views by the two-woman panel who interviewed me for a Master’s in Gender at Birkbeck. I opted for the London School of Economics instead and did an MSc in Gender and the Media, exploring popular culture’s representation of and influences on, you guessed it, women.

If your gaydar’s going off, you’re wrong.

So, cue the next predictable question: did I get my boobs done to make myself more attractive to men? In a nutshell: no. I’m well aware that lots of men don’t like fake boobs and they’re even barred from the much maligned Page 3, so to me it seems redundant to claim I’m fulfilling a male fantasy.

Still sceptical? There’s a nasty suspicion in our culture that women wearing heels, dresses and make-up - and brandishing a boob job - are mindless man-pleasers, thoughtlessly conforming to what society deems “feminine”. Women who make these choices are often derided and ridiculed as being, well, a bit silly.

Why is it such an uphill struggle to credit women with the intelligence and self-awareness to make conscious, autonomous choices about their appearance? The insidious suspicion that we’re Build-A-Barbie Stepford Wives, designing our entire look just for men, is still all encompassing – even in 2015.

I wondered what it would take to deflate the idea that women get boob jobs for men. A lesbian with a boob job, perhaps? Surely that would be the jackpot of closing arguments. A couple of the major cosmetic surgery groups told me they’d carried out boob jobs on lesbians, but sadly none of them fancied a chat with me for this piece.

I tried to engage some women on this topic on a lesbian forum and annoyingly no one came forward. However, after reading the various threads, I was heartened to find a wealth of conversations about appearance that back up the essence of my point: most women are cosmetically or otherwise altering themselves for themselves. And no one else.

I read comments from lesbians who loved heels, make-up, short skirts and long hair, who were frustrated at the assumption (often by the LGBT community) they were straight. They were being turned away from gay and lesbian bars and felt invisible or ostracised in the lesbian community.

Many talked of reacting to this by adjusting their appearance to look less stereotypically feminine, in an effort to fit in and be accepted on the scene. This was often followed by a revert to original form, after reaching the conclusion that they’d rather wear what they felt happiest in, regardless of what anyone else thought.

They weren’t wearing heels in the hope of snogging Joey Essex at Sugar Hut, after watching TOWIE. They weren’t wearing short skirts with the aspiration of easy access sex on a fire escape with Calum Best. They weren’t wearing make-up with the goal of getting off with John Terry. They were simply wearing what they wanted to, despite it making it trickier to attract a partner.

It seems that wider society has an easier time accepting that lesbians aren’t making these wardrobe choices to please men – so perhaps we can afford straight women the same courtesy? Surely we should give all women the level of respect that credits them with the ability to make their own decisions, whether or not they fancy men.

In 2014, the number of breast augmentations carried out was down 20 per cent from the previous year, heralding cries of boob jobs as a fad and suggestions that women are deluded if they imagine they know their own minds: “Of course, most of the women who opted for breast implants probably felt they were doing it for their own confidence levels and self-esteem.” Comments such as this are the equivalent of a patronising pat on the head and confirmation that we augmented women are thought of as nothing more than media indoctrinated morons.

I’d like to think we can take responsibility for our decisions. Of course none of us live in a vacuum; we’re bombarded with images and messages daily, but as an intelligent woman with a post-graduate academic background in gender and media theory, I certainly hope I’m able to make autonomous choices.

And while I can only speak for myself, it would seem horribly bourgeois to suggest that I’m making a judgment others aren’t deemed capable of. It brings to mind a certain Daily Mash satirical wonder, that alcohol should be restricted to nice people with degrees.

For me, as a woman in my thirties who’s just had a boob job, the era of plastic fantastic isn’t coming to an end, it’s just beginning.

Samantha Rea can be found tweeting here.