Last weekend I went out to find a couple of swimsuits. No, not for an exotic vacation to Tahiti, but for doing a few laps and some water aerobics at my apartment's pool. Living in Florida has a few perks: swimsuits are always on sale. The Spring line must've needed to be cleared out for the Summer line: Ads promised 75% off. I don't particularly care what the suits look like; since the sun and the pool chemicals devour fabric, style isn’t the focus. (I found this out when one day when my suit felt unusually “breezy.” I glanced in the mirror to discover my Lycra Speedo had dissolved to the point of being sheer.) No, this time it was about affordability.
So I thought.
What is it about trying to find a swimsuit? I’m convinced that after age twelve, it’s impossible to pop into the store and choose according to what we like, not what makes us feel less hideous. Those fashion designers can do whatever they want, bangle-wise, strap-wise, print-wise, diagonal-wise, or anything-wise. It’s not going to make one damn bit of difference.
Females carry and store fat differently from males. Simply put, we have cellulite. It flourishes on our thighs, but also seems to be deliriously happy on our arms and fannies. The crinkle-effect never vanishes; later in life, it’s embellished by a glorious map of blue veins. All this is amplified in the three-way mirrors of the store’s dressing room. And if we were clinging to even a shred of self-confidence, or faint hope that we could be attractive in a piece of lycra, fluorescent lighting finishes the job faster than you can say "Sports Illustrated."
I realize I’m writing this in direct opposition to how I normally declare that women are more than their bodies, and that we should each be embracing our unique structure and stature. We come in all shapes and sizes, a reason to celebrate our femininity! We deserve to be admired for our brilliant minds, clever talents, and natural skills! We have worked hard to be seen as more than sex symbols! The older we get, the better we get!
Why do all those bold statements collapse into a puddle of tears when it comes to a garment worn a few times a year, usually for something happy, like a vacation? And here's The Big Question: Can I be a feminist and still want to find a swimsuit that makes me feel pretty?
A delightful article titled, "Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny" by Patricia Marx, in The New Yorker tackles the topic. Marx sums it up perfectly: “Bathing suits—let’s not kid ourselves—are underwear, but worse. For, unlike underwear, they do not work behind the scenes. Bathing suits are the whole show.”
Back to my bargain shopping. I’m sure you want to remind me that I began this Blix by saying I didn’t care what I found at the sale. I was simply looking to cover myself in a fiscally-responsible manner. True enough, fashion was not my objective...at least not on this shopping trip. If I spend less on these poor soon-to-be-ravaged-by-chlorine swimsuits, then maybe, after six more months of workouts, I will arrive into 2015 ready to once again seek the perfect suit that will feel splendid should I suddenly decide to go to Tahiti.
Hope springs eternal.
It's Costco for me! I do a lot of water aerobics and it's true, the suits disolve in a few weeks. Costco carries a variety of colors (styles not so much) that you can buy in bulk if you so choose. That said, I do have this lovely little designer suit that I got on sale. Still waiting to be able to fit into it. It was an optimistic purchase. Maybe someday...
Posted by: Jo-Anna | 06/14/2014 at 07:06 PM