A Cover-Up, Then Exposure
I’m not saying that bikinis, or the pressure to look good in one, can cause mental illness, but it has recently come to my attention that between the ages of 13 and 22, I have no recollection of any bathing suit I ever wore. Not a single one. The amnesia is absolute.
My last clear bikini memory, around eighth grade, is of a yellow two-piece held together by groovy silver metal rings, one on each hip and one between the cups. Well, “cups” is probably too strong a word--”triangles of fabric” is a more apt choice.
It was memorable for three reasons: I sewed it myself. I got strange tan lines from the metal rings. And the top exploded away from my body on its own trajectory when I dived into a pool during someone’s patio party.
The ensuing nine years, bathing suit-wise, are as blank as a supermodel’s stare. I think I know why.
I was a chubby child at a time when no one had ever heard of self-esteem, let alone worried about damaging a kid’s with well-meaning but loaded remarks such as, “You have such a pretty face. . . .”
The “but” was always implied, always understood.
Bathing suit season was the cruelest time of year. Pool parties, beach junkets--all the social staples of adolescent summertime in the sun-baked San Fernando Valley were a nightmare for kids like me.
It wasn’t that I was embarrassed to be seen by boys. I was embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
As an adolescent, I devised all sorts of face-saving strategies to avoid wearing a bathing suit in public: I forgot it at home. It’s that time of month. I don’t feel well.
This, I am certain, is why I have repressed any recollection of bathing suits worn during the tender--or in my case, chunky--teenage years.
My memory returns shortly after college graduation with the purchase of a one-piece. I was thin, but more important, the suit made me feel even thinner. It was black. Women often impart magical reducing qualities to the color black. Some years ago, a friend of mine bought a black Mercedes because she felt it would be slimming. At the time, this seemed a perfectly logical basis for her choice.
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For the next 15 years, bikini styles came and went: high-cut thighs, structured cups, bandeaux, thongs, scuba looks, fluorescent colors, etc. They all looked like public humiliation to me. I remained faithful to generation after generation of the confidence-building black maillot.
Each summer, my flesh would become strangely two-tone. My shoulders, arms and legs would turn a deep caramel color. My midriff, like one of those bottom-dwelling sea creatures that never sees daylight, would become translucent. Naked, before a full-length mirror (how queasy those words make me feel), I would look like a grafted biracial shrub: someone else’s umber limbs attached to my albino trunk.
No more.
My epiphany came a month ago, during my first visit to a water slide park. Visitors are required to wear bathing suits. No exceptions. And no cover-ups. I, of course, was in the latest incarnation of my black one-piece, this one an overpriced designer number with white piping.
If you ever need a little boost of body confidence, if you are ever feeling a wee bit bloated, a trip to the local water slide could be just the thing. Former U.S. Surgeon General C. Everett Koop said recently that if he held that post today, he would declare obesity the No. 1 threat to American health. He must have just visited a water park.
Surrounded by bodies bearing witness to our fast-food, couch-potato culture, I never felt so slim in my life.
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Today, as I sit typing, I am wearing my new bikini.
To answer the obvious question, yes, I work at home.
I must have tried on a dozen suits, starting with black ones, moving into brighter variations until I went completely out of my mind and ended up with the one I am in just now.
It is a halter-style thing, in a loud orange-green-yellow flower power print. It is either totally hip or completely hideous. Not having the guts to wear it out of the house yet, I have no reference point. My 16-year-old niece pronounced it “cool” and assured me my midriff would appear much smaller once it is tan. My adult stepdaughter widened her eyes and didn’t speak. One for, one against.
Secretly, I think I look like an escapee from the set of “Laugh-In.” All that’s missing is the daisy drawn around my navel.
This week, we are off to Hawaii for a family vacation. I plan to spend most of my time in mynew bikini. Depending on how things go, it will be one of the most memorable vacations I’ve ever taken . . . or a complete blank.
* Robin Abcarian co-hosts a morning talk show on radio station KTZN-AM (710). Her column appears on Wednesdays. Her e-mail address is rabcarian@aol.com.
If you ever need a little boost of body confidence, a trip to a water slide could be just the thing. Former U.S. Surgeon General C. Everett Koop said recently that if he held that post today, he would declare obesity the No. 1 threat to American health. He must have just visited a water park.
