The slimline British actress looks to have increased several cup sizes in the latest campaign for Coco Mademoiselle perfume.
In 2004, an image of Knightley was digitally enhanced for the US posters advertising her film, King Arthur. She said at the time: “Those things certainly weren’t mine.”
For the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, make-up artists took a more old-fashioned approach by painting in a cleavage to give the impression that she was spilling out of her corsets.
“They painted my tits on me for the films, which is extraordinary because it’s kind of a dying art form. In the past, they used to have whole sections of the studios devoted to bosom make-up. And I loved it, completely loved it. Because it was the first time in my life I had big tits and I didn’t even need surgery,” she said.
The 24-year-old actress was signed as the face of Coco Mademoiselle in 2007.
Her slender frame has attracted much attention since she sprang to fame in Bend It Like Beckham, and in 2007 she won libel damages from a newspaper which falsely implied she had an eating disorder.
The Oscar-nominated star will be seen next in Never Let Me Go, an adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel. She has also been cast as Eliza Doolittle in a forthcoming screen version of My Fair Lady.
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Update
Oh Keira, why oh why do you let them do it to you? Surely, you have enough clout to get a ‘no messing’ clause in the contract for your photo-shoots? I mean, what’s the point?
Your beauty is beyond doubt; beyond need of digital trickery. It’s your eyes, your mischievous smile, your astonishingly long, lithe limbs that we find so enchanting. Why the need to boost your boobs, like a common starlet?
Yesterday, the Mail published an extraordinary picture of you, near naked above the waist, in an advert for Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle perfume.
It was painfully obvious that your chest had been artificially ‘enhanced’ – just as it was five years ago in a promotion for your film King Arthur.
Sure, the finished image looks lovely, but it doesn’t look entirely like you. I don’t have your enviable limbs but – like you – I don’t have much of a bust. I’m a double-A size and I’ve learnt to love it.
Big breasts do not necessarily equal sexy – a neat chest can be far more elegant. I can’t remember any men ever daring to comment on my breasts, or lack thereof, and my dear husband has no complaints.
I’ve often worried away at him, trying to provoke a negative response to my lack of embonpoint, asking whether I shouldn’t have an enhancement, an augmentation.
It’s so common now – why, look at those celebs who change their implants like they change their handbags. Wouldn’t he prefer me to have, well, at least a bit of a bust?
But steadily, for the 24 years that we’ve been together, he’s dismissed every such comment, to the point where I’ve had to accept that he means what he says. That some men might be fixated with large breasts, but luckily, he’s not one of them. That I’m perfect as I am.
Small breasts are also extremely practical. They don’t hold you back or weigh you down, or provide a distraction to conversation. You can get away with a far wider range of clothes than anyone who is well-endowed.
Plus, as I get older, they’re certainly not going to end up down by my knees – the spectre of saggy breasts is not one that haunts me.
A friend of mine has knock-out, natural, double-G breasts. When she wears a low-cut evening gown, it’s impossible not to gawp in sheer admiration.
But I know how much physical pain their sheer weight brings her, and I don’t envy her one bit. I’m more jealous of those with neat, fuss-free B-cups.
I’m not without hang-ups. I wish I could be as insouciant as the gorgeous Erin O’Connor about her androgynous chest, or other pancake-flat celebs such as Kate Moss, Lily Allen and Trinny Woodall. But I’m not.
Like Erin, my friend Lou has no breasts to speak of. She never bothers with a bra and it works fine for her.
I dislike looking totally flat, so I always wear a padded bra to give me some sort of outline. And I hate that in a gym-kit or a swimsuit I have a flatter front than most men.
So I wear a bra under my tank top when I exercise, which is a bit mad, and not comfortable, but there you go. (Talking of which, Keira, you’d surely never have scored your role as a football-mad teenager in Bend It Like Beckham with a pair of double-Ds distracting viewers.)
I do know what it’s like to have large breasts. I’ve had three children and during each pregnancy my breasts grew swiftly and magnificently to a massive double-E-cup. It was bizarre, and rather nice, to be soft and curvy all over, but boy, were they an encumbrance!
When, in time, they deflated back to double-A (that’s smaller than A, if you want the technicalities, ie barely there at all), I wasn’t sad to see them go.
Since then, I’ve toyed with the idea of breast enhancement, but can’t really see myself going through all the pain and palaver – let alone the expense.
Besides, I wouldn’t want to go larger than a decent A-cup, which is just about what I can achieve with my lovely Victoria’s Secrets Biofit gel-padded bras.
Aspiring to an A-cup might sound ridiculous, but with my frame and broad shoulders, sticking big breasts onto my front would make me look like a ship in full sail. And besides, what if I had it done, then regretted it?
Last year, I went halfway down this route and tried the ‘instant boob jab’ treatment, Macrolane, where, instead of having fillers put into your face, you have an injection to pump up your boobs.
At first I was amazed and delighted to have a decent, perky bust that was almost a B-cup, even though I knew it would last only 18 months. But I found even that tiny enhancement had its downside.
None of my fitted jackets would button up without straining at the seams. Lying flat on my front during yoga, they were definitely in the way. How on earth, I wondered, did my better endowed friends cope?
I like to think, too, that the flat, athletic chest has a kind of eternal allure. Looking at history books, it is possible to gain enough perspective to see the trend for mega-boobs for what it is: a passing fad.
Now that they’ve become commonplace, attainable by every aspiring glamour-girl as an instant route to notoriety, isn’t it about time for a real backlash?
For the complete opposite to the present pneumatic ideal? Something like the breast-binding fashion of the Twenties’ Flapper Girls?
Come on Keira, you look fab in a beaded flapper dress. You could lead the way.
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