As a woman, I'm somewhat expected to groan at the thought of swimsuit shopping. Women's magazines devote plenty of ink to finding the right swimsuit for one's body type (pear! apple!) as though we are a nation of Cathys. Through these articles we learn about padded tops, hidden girdles, string bikinis, tankinis, monokinis, and so forth. But nothing hides the fact that wearing a swimsuit is akin to parading around in one's underwear, and no swimsuit can magically hide our jigglypuff.
Because I accept this reality, swimsuit shopping is not so bad — especially because I do it only once every few years. My existing suit (bought in 2006) is too big now, and so it is time to buy a new one. All I want is a simple black bikini. No fussy beads, no goofy fake-metal rings, just a classic look. You'd think this should be an easy thing to find, right? It's not.
I refuse to pay $80 for what amounts to less than a yard of fabric, so today I went to Target, who always stocks swimsuits no matter what time of year it is. There were six racks stuffed with swim, so I had much to choose from. Although my heliophobic ass wouldn't mind the extra sun coverage provided by a one-piece, I avoid them because they flatten, not flatter. They always transport me back to being 12 and wondering when I would finally need a bra. (Still waiting.) Most of Target's maillots were matronly tummy-cinchers, which was frustrating. Some of us might want to wear one-pieces without choosing a style made for a middle-aged mommy or a Mormon. Or a middle-aged Mormon mommy.
So, then. Bikinis. Whereas the one-pieces were dowdy, the two-pieces were itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, etc. Most looked like something a 16-year-old Tila Tequila fan might like to wear. I encountered Ed Hardy knockoff skull bikinis and bikinis decorated with paisley, camouflage, and neon paint splatters. All of these things made me feel old. Which, considering the fact that I am about twice the age of the hypothetical target audience for these suits, makes sense.
Finally, I managed to find a black swimsuit. This one called to me due to its simplicity and blackness. I tried it on, which was challenging because (obviously) you keep your underpants on during the process. I'm glad that rule exists for sanitary purposes, but it's hard to envision what you'll look like when there's a pair of underpants poking out from underneath the swimsuit. I looked like a never-nude.
Now is a good time to mention how multiple people have commented on the alleged hugeness of my ass. I have been told that I have a big one for a white girl, which is a backhanded compliment that tosses in some mildly racist talk just for funsies. Personally, I don't think my haunches are as big as everyone claims, but years of unsolicited comments have left me wanting to avoid anything that highlights my bum more than necessary.
Because of this history of bottom-focused talk, I wasn't sure what to think of the suit. It's not that it looked bad or was scandalous, but it basically looked like lingerie. And the bottom was skimpier in the back than I would like. Then our friends prudish Swimsuit Angel and slutty Swimsuit Devil showed up, one resting on each of my shoulders.
"Ayyyyyyyyyyy," said Swimsuit Devil. (Apparently, Swimsuit Devil sounds like the Fonz.) "Lookin' gooooooood. You should totally buy this because it is uncharacteristically sexy for you. Live a little! Enjoy what you've got before gravity drags it all south!"
"Oh my, no no no," Swimsuit Angel clucked. "You will not be able to fade into the background with this harlot bikini. Especially because it looks like lacy underpants! Go for something less revealing, like a hazmat suit."
As part of my "do things differently" plan, I decided to side with Swimsuit Devil. Yay for body acceptance and so forth. But preening in the Target dressing room is much different than parading around in front of strangers. I imagined walking in the suit in front of unknown men, and how I'd be able to feel their eyes even after I passed. Not that I'm some goddess with a knockout figure, but I think most women know the sensation I'm talking about. Stares can feel so violating. So in the end, that party pooper Swimsuit Angel won out, leaving the swimwear quest unfinished. I swear, I've spent more time thinking about swimsuits today than I've worn them in the last three years. And yes, I know this is all ridiculous, but perhaps it's a little more entertaining than the alternate story: Here's An Anti-Greenwashing Tirade About How Scott Naturals Toilet Paper Is Made of Only 40% Recycled Fiber.
Because I accept this reality, swimsuit shopping is not so bad — especially because I do it only once every few years. My existing suit (bought in 2006) is too big now, and so it is time to buy a new one. All I want is a simple black bikini. No fussy beads, no goofy fake-metal rings, just a classic look. You'd think this should be an easy thing to find, right? It's not.
I refuse to pay $80 for what amounts to less than a yard of fabric, so today I went to Target, who always stocks swimsuits no matter what time of year it is. There were six racks stuffed with swim, so I had much to choose from. Although my heliophobic ass wouldn't mind the extra sun coverage provided by a one-piece, I avoid them because they flatten, not flatter. They always transport me back to being 12 and wondering when I would finally need a bra. (Still waiting.) Most of Target's maillots were matronly tummy-cinchers, which was frustrating. Some of us might want to wear one-pieces without choosing a style made for a middle-aged mommy or a Mormon. Or a middle-aged Mormon mommy.
So, then. Bikinis. Whereas the one-pieces were dowdy, the two-pieces were itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, etc. Most looked like something a 16-year-old Tila Tequila fan might like to wear. I encountered Ed Hardy knockoff skull bikinis and bikinis decorated with paisley, camouflage, and neon paint splatters. All of these things made me feel old. Which, considering the fact that I am about twice the age of the hypothetical target audience for these suits, makes sense.
Finally, I managed to find a black swimsuit. This one called to me due to its simplicity and blackness. I tried it on, which was challenging because (obviously) you keep your underpants on during the process. I'm glad that rule exists for sanitary purposes, but it's hard to envision what you'll look like when there's a pair of underpants poking out from underneath the swimsuit. I looked like a never-nude.
Now is a good time to mention how multiple people have commented on the alleged hugeness of my ass. I have been told that I have a big one for a white girl, which is a backhanded compliment that tosses in some mildly racist talk just for funsies. Personally, I don't think my haunches are as big as everyone claims, but years of unsolicited comments have left me wanting to avoid anything that highlights my bum more than necessary.
Because of this history of bottom-focused talk, I wasn't sure what to think of the suit. It's not that it looked bad or was scandalous, but it basically looked like lingerie. And the bottom was skimpier in the back than I would like. Then our friends prudish Swimsuit Angel and slutty Swimsuit Devil showed up, one resting on each of my shoulders.
"Ayyyyyyyyyyy," said Swimsuit Devil. (Apparently, Swimsuit Devil sounds like the Fonz.) "Lookin' gooooooood. You should totally buy this because it is uncharacteristically sexy for you. Live a little! Enjoy what you've got before gravity drags it all south!"
"Oh my, no no no," Swimsuit Angel clucked. "You will not be able to fade into the background with this harlot bikini. Especially because it looks like lacy underpants! Go for something less revealing, like a hazmat suit."
As part of my "do things differently" plan, I decided to side with Swimsuit Devil. Yay for body acceptance and so forth. But preening in the Target dressing room is much different than parading around in front of strangers. I imagined walking in the suit in front of unknown men, and how I'd be able to feel their eyes even after I passed. Not that I'm some goddess with a knockout figure, but I think most women know the sensation I'm talking about. Stares can feel so violating. So in the end, that party pooper Swimsuit Angel won out, leaving the swimwear quest unfinished. I swear, I've spent more time thinking about swimsuits today than I've worn them in the last three years. And yes, I know this is all ridiculous, but perhaps it's a little more entertaining than the alternate story: Here's An Anti-Greenwashing Tirade About How Scott Naturals Toilet Paper Is Made of Only 40% Recycled Fiber.
Labels: neuroses
Okay okay okay, where to begin?
1. As a guy, I like looking at girls in swimsuits. I sort of always assumed that is why girls wore them. Besides the swimming, of course. There has never been a time in my life where, after a good leacherous stare, I tried to reel said stare back in after hitting a body part I found objectionable. Unless your (ahem) posterior has Inuits fingering harpoons as you go by, I'd say you are safe.
2. After looking at the attached link, I agree with Swimsuit Angel that said bikini does in fact resemble lacy underwear a little too much. There is a time and a place, and that place is not the beach.
3. Who is Tila Tequila? While I'm sure this question reveals just how big the rock I live under is, I am curious yet mildly apprehensive to let Google answer this question for me.
4. Get whatever you feel comfortable in. Despite lots of jogging and working out, my genes have decreed that I will forever be saddled with the body of a mid-western wrestler. All shoulders and gut. So if it's any help, very few of us have time to worry about what you look like when we are too busy worrying about what we look like.
Okay, okay, okay, where to respond?
1. Ha! No, I do not wear swimsuits to appeal to men. Some women do, of course.
2. Agreed.
3. A pox on the face of humanity. Be glad you don't know her.
4. Nothing wrong with midwestern wrestlers. I've known (not Biblically!) a few in my time and they were stand-up gents. If you are mistaken for one, well, worse things could happen.