My armpit does its job just fine and my appreciation for what it does is not contingent upon how it looks, how it looks to others or even how lovely it smells. My armpit is, happily, the last place on my body that gets my attention.
Bras in my size are cheerfully doodled over with hearts, flowers and little cupcakes that would inspire Katy Perry to write a hit song right there in the dressing room. My breasts are offended. They know what they are and they are not part of a Fisher Price play set.
Part of what sets these dancers in high relief is their unbelievable control and flexibility, but the other, major portion of their grace is how much they so obviously love their womanly bodies and, by extension, their female selves.