Outfit Post: The tyranny of the "bikini body"

Memorial Day weekend, 1981: I am seven years old. My parents are hosting a barbecue and have invited my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and neighborhood friends. The air smells like roasting barbecue briquettes, daylilies, freshly cut grass and hot dogs.The rhythmic spurt-spurt-spurt of the sprinkler permeates the air. I am wearing an enticing two-piece yellow terry cloth bikini which ties around my neck, and my cousins and I shriek as we run through the needle-sharp spray of the sprinkler. My waist-long hair drips water down my back. I feel happy, unencumbered and free.

Flash forward to Memorial Day weekend, present day: I am 36 years old. My husband and three children chatter excitedly about going to the neighborhood pool. I have zero desire to go to the pool, because going to the pool means wearing my swimsuit in public. I stand in front of my dresser and try to calm myself down. I try on two-piece after two-piece, self-esteem plummeting in the process. Swimsuits lie tangled on the floor. My thighs seem to expand with each selection. My body takes up too much space. I am flabby and fat and all-together unacceptable. I feel like a failure.

Every summer, I go through the exact same ritual. I become obsessively focused on the notion of the perfect bikini body, an entity I am certain every woman possesses except for myself. The NY Times recently ran an article exploring the notion of the bikini body, examining the effect it has on fear-inspired marketing campaigns and as a symbol of physical perfection.

There's no way of figuring out when the phrase "bikini body" was first uttered or when its tyranny took hold. It's common knowledge that the two-piece as we know it was invented in 1946 by engineer Louis Réard who christened it after Bikini Atoll. The style became popular in the 50's and by the 80's was standard beachwear. As our culture increasingly enshrines physical perfection, the bikini has come to inspire dread and awe. It wasn’t always so. In the 1960s, when bellybutton-baring suits first became popular in America, “it was a youthful phenomenon definitely,” said Sarah Kennedy, the author of “The Swimsuit: A History of Twentieth-Century Fashions.” Then the high-fashion set and movie stars began to put on bikinis, and by the ’70s, she said, the bikini was “worn by all ages.”

And a few extra pounds didn’t disqualify anyone, considering the fitness revolution was still roughly a decade away. (The NY Times mentions that in the book there’s a 1940s photograph of a fresh-faced still-brunet Marilyn Monroe looking smashing in a two-piece, a roll of pale flesh at her midsection.)

Writes The Guardian's Laurie Penny:

When it finally became popular in the 1960s, the bikini was a symbol of physical liberation, of beautiful women reacting to the stern sexual prudery of previous decades by exposing as much skin to the sun as they pleased. Today, as with many iterations of the sexual emancipation rhetoric of the 1960s, wearing a bikini is no longer associated with pleasure and daring, but with anxiety, dieting rituals and joyless physical performance...The bikini body has become cultural shorthand for a moral standard of female perfection whereby any physical flaw should be regarded as a source of shame, an obstacle to collective fantasies of glamour and happiness.

When did  the bikini become the standard of all beauty? I'm going to theorize that the first Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues, published in 1964, had a lot to do with it. With that publication, swimsuits became explicitly linked with the standards of female desirability. Also, the Swimsuit Issue is published in the winter and had little to do with the reality of actual women being at the beach, let alone swimming, and a lot to do with unattainable goals.

"Bikini body" is the going code for "acceptable." It is always in bikinis that the tabloids feature the "best" and "worst" bodies. Type "bikini body" into Google and you get the following suggested searches:

bikini body workout
bikini body diet
bikini body tips
bikini body fast
quick bikini body

The bikini body has nothing to do with overall health, or fitness, or lifestyle. No, it's about shedding "winter weight" fast, before some arbitrary deadline known as "Bikini Season," at which point we're forced to confront a two-piece suit with, naturally, the requisite "bikini wax," and no trace of cold-weather pastyness. Jezebel argues that the "bikini body" craze goes so much deeper than fatism or fatphobia. It is part of our society's relentless insistence that a woman's body is not her own. It is an object to be criticized.  Our society seems to think that a woman wears a bikini not for herself, but for the public to decide her worthiness.

Will the world end tomorrow if I can't cram my butt into a bikini? I was going to ask Stephen Hawking, but, after some careful mathematical calculations, I was able to come up with the answer on my own: No. Does this mean that I still don't have days where I hate my thighs and stomach so much I want to carve them off of my body with a fillet knife? No. But I understand that those days will happen and that they really don't matter because there truly is NOTHING wrong with my body. I've put it through a lot in the past 36 years and it's stuck around and carried me through everything.

So my motto is this: Just be healthy. Eat things that are nutritionally good for you and exercise, but don't forget about delicious, delicious baked goods and gelato from Pacuigo. Don't deprive yourself of things to satisfy the warped and nonsensical views of people that see you as another bottomless pocket and empty head. 

Do what you want, eat what you want, wear what you want, and be who you want.

Now I ask you: How you deal with the pressure of the "bikini body?" Does wearing a swimsuit in public make you break out in a sweat? Do you avoid going to the beach, pool or lake because of this fear? Does wearing a swimsuit cause you to dread summer activities? And do you have a favorite swimsuit that makes you feel great about yourself?

Thrifted Gap chambray shirt: thrifted vintage dress; Old Navy belt; White Mountain sandals; TIKKR watch; Charming Charlie bracelet; Forever 21 necklace

Outfit Post: The labels we wear on the inside

This past Saturday night I went to see the Black Angels with Erin of Work With What You've Got. It was loud, and hot, and the audience was at capacity with bearded and ponytailed twenty-something hipsters in black concert tees, skinny jeans and Chucks. The venue smelled like beer and pot and cigarettes and a million other unidentifiable odors. I wore a fetching ensemble composed of a Forever 21 hot-pink leopard sports bra under a lace trapeze top, paired with a thrifted vintage black skirt and black leather platform sandals. With my tattoos and bright red hair, I thought I blended in pretty well, despite the fifteen year-age difference between me and the rest of the crowd. After five hours of talking and singing and yelling and dancing and people-watching, I eventually crawled home after one o'clock in the morning. All in all, it was a fantastic night.

However, on Sunday morning I was in serious pain. I couldn't hear out of my left ear. My throat was raw. My head ached something fierce. And my feet were sore from hours spent in those platforms (which I wore despite warnings from my husband that they'd make me a cripple before the night was over. Okay, husband, you were right. There, I said it.) I spent most of the day popping Advil and lying on the couch curled in a fetal position.

In the wake of my post-concert trauma, I started to question whether I should have attended the event in the first place. I wondered about the condition of the other concert-goers the next morning. Were they suffering from pounding headaches and sore throats? Did their feet hurt? And the came the inevitable questions: Was I too old to have been there? Did I look ridiculous? Were my days of late nights behind me? Did I belong at home, watching depressing sitcoms on CBS and clipping coupons for things like Sunsweet prunes?

While pondering these questions, I was reminded of a recent post on Psychology Today about the internal labels we carry. The author explored the life-long struggle many of us have to shake off the limits we think define us. Often these labels have been internalized for years, and the fight against them can feel like a never-ending challenge.

Reading this article led to some fairly deep introspection. I mentally flipped through ways I label myself.

"You're too old to stay up until all hours."
"You're too fat to wear those skinny jeans."
"You can't shop in that store."
"You're not talented enough to be a writer."
"You can't make a long road trip by yourself."
"You're not stylish/cool/youthful enough to wear that outfit."
"You're not fit enough to run a 10k."
"You shouldn't leave the house without make-up."

Labels have a way of sticking around. Often they've been adopted following a traumatic event or conversation with an important person in your life. My mother was a strict enforcer of rules, and I grew up believing that there were certain things I just couldn't do because they were inappropriate, unbecoming or unladylike. That included wearing certain types of clothes, staying out late, or even going places alone. Growing up with such strict limits also discouraged me from even trying to challenge them - why have hope when I'm just going to fail? The defeatist, pessimistic nature of labels keeps us confined and crippled by self-doubt and insecurity. Criticism from a boss, close friend, or teacher can also reinforce the ways we label ourselves. Sometimes it only takes the slightest reminder to trigger our biggest fears and doubts.

Thankfully, I'm determined to challenge the ways I label myself. Despite the fears that I was going to look redonk, I wore that neon leopard bra. I danced and sang at the top of my lungs and stayed out late. And I had a fantastic time. My morning after guilt is inevitable after challenging myself, but it's no excuse for me to continue to abide by labels.

Do you believe that you have internalized labels that limit yourself from being who you are? What are some ways you label yourself? Are there things you believe you just can't or shouldn't do? What do you do to challenge these labels?

Thrifted Target tuxedo jacket; Forever 21 lace tank; Forever 21 sports bra; thrifted vintage skirt; White Mountain sandals; thrifted vintage Coach satchel; TIKKR watch; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets

Outfit Post: Confessions of a control freak

There's a long list of things I would like to change about myself. There's my tendency to procrastinate - folding the laundry and cleaning the bathrooms and vacuuming and carrying out a myriad of other household tasks. There's my propensity towards driving too fast on the highway. And let's not forget my intolerance towards people that bring more than 15 items to the express check-out line at the supermarket. However, if I had to name what I'd consider my greatest character "challenge,"  I'd say it's my need to feel in control. I go through life the way I drive: gripping the steering wheel until my arms get all scary and veiny and it looks like I'm going to rip the damm wheel off.

Those with issues around control tend to be described by the following attributes: They are dominating, and picky, and highly critical. They are raving perfectionists. They would rather give orders than take them. Someone with control issues finds winning an argument much more fulfilling than finding the right solution, and often makes the people around them anxious, if not alienated. Furthermore, those with control problems often have difficulty trusting others and have a profound fear of having their flaws exposed. Exerting control over our environment is a fundamental human need, but in a certain portion of the population, the mechanism for managing such a need simply doesn't exist. "Control freaks try and control every aspect of the environment," says executive coach Jon Stokes of Stokes & Jolly. "They obsesses. They try to assemble masses of information"

I rationally understand that it's simply not possible for me to always be in control. But more often than not, I find myself struggling to feel like I am. Whether it's insisting on certain seat in a restaurant (usually facing the front entrance, so I can keep tabs on anyone entering and leaving,) or imagining any number of horrific scenarios (so I can work them through in my mind and plan exactly how I'll respond,) my need to feel in control of myself and my circumstances has a significant impact on my life.

For a long time, my need to control was directed at my body. From the foods I put in my mouth to the amount of calories I consumed, I was most definitely in charge and no one - no one - could change that. Studies have shown that many anorexic individuals try to exert control over their bodies through deprivation of food, because they feel very little control over any other aspect of their lives.

But now that I'm solidly in recovery, my control issues squeak out through my shopping habits and wardrobe. I'm constantly in search of the "perfect" piece - the right shade of denim skirt, the sublime touch of a glossy fur, the preppy cut of a slim vintage blazer, the glistening sparkle of a sequined top - and having the perfect wardrobe. It seems I never have the right items to make an outfit look, well, perfect. Nevermind the fact that my closet door is bursting off its hinges. I am convinced that if I keep shopping, and searching, somehow I'll get it right. And if I'm not shopping I'm reorganizing my closet, purging and categorizing and color-coding every item I own. When I feel my life is out of control, this is my self-soothing mechanism. I can't control how often my husband is out of town for work or what my kids do at school,  so I attempt to ease my anxiety by obsessing about shopping, the state of my closet, and dressing "perfectly."

For many women, the search for control is an anxiety management technique of choice. Focusing about what others are doing, compulsively trying make something perfect, or obsessing about appearance are ways through which we create a false sense of security in an unpredictable world. Yesterday, as I was reorganizing and editing and obsessing and categorizing my closet, I wondered if I was the only one who struggled with control issues.  The quest to make everything perfect seems to be something we all deal with at one point or another. Do you think there's a connection between a search for control and perfectionism? Has anyone ever called you a control freak? Do you have to deal with someone who fits the description? How has that affected your relationship?

(Have you entered my giveaway for a gift bag and new bronzing products from The Body Shop? Enter here!)

Lucky Brand jacket; thrfted J Crew chambray shirt; Forever 21 lace top; Gap Outlet jeggings; White Mountain sandals; Charming Charlie rings and bracelets

Everybody Everywear: Florals (with a bit about bra shopping)

If you are a woman, and you are wearing a bra, you are probably wearing the wrong size one. That's what they say. According to "experts"  and "surveys," anywhere between 70% to 85% of women are mistreating their breasts, either shoving them into too-small cups or allowing them to flop freely in stretched-out, ill-fitting bras. Origins of this statistic are mysterious - some websites blame it on a Victoria's Secret poll, others something from the Wacoal brand, and some a particularly stressful episode of Oprah. Even worse, in 2008 Jezebel referenced a study by "esteemed" U.K publication The Daily Mail which claimed that wearing the wrong bra size can permanently damage breasts. The terrifying notion that we are wearing the wrong bra size has been quoted back to me by my mom, friends, and basically every women's magazine I've flipped through. "Eighty-five percent of American woman are wearing the wrong bra" is the "more likely to be killed by a terrorist than get married" statistic of the new millennium.

The problem is so dramatic that Oprah devoted two full episodes addressing it. She lauded the importance of the professional bra fitting, proclaiming it "the beauty secret that literally produces miracles." According to Oprah and her team of experts, a bra fitting can reverse aging and "make you look ten, even twenty pounds lighter." The correct bra size also makes your clothes fit better, and  improves your posture. Squees Oprah, a professional fitting culminates in a bra-ha! moment, that magical experience where your boobs are lifted and supported and exotic white doves burst forth from the dressing room in a double rainbow display of ecclesiastical joy. Hmmm. By Oprah's description, getting professionally fitted for a bra falls somewhere between winning the lottery and finding a golden lamp with a wish-granting genie inside. Wrong Bra-Sizegate is so critical that Oprah's website includes a "Bra Intervention" section, profiling unfortunate creatures in before-and-after photos. And it can't be denied that these women look ecstatically happy in their new bras, grinning beatifically at the camera in their lacy concoctions.

Okay. To summarize, wearing the wrong size bra makes me look old, fat, and will permanently masticate my boobs. AND YET you could not pay me enough to get professionally fitted. Bras are my most dreaded item to shop for. There's too much uncertainty, too much itchy lace, too many complicated straps and hooks and pokey underwire and it's so cold that my nipples might poke someone's eye out and OH MY GOD WHY CAN'T I JUST BIND MY BREASTS DOWN WITH ELASTIC LIKE THE FLAPPERS DID THIS IS TORTURE STRESSYTIME AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!. Just the THOUGHT of some other WOMAN prodding my delicate ladybreastesses with her sure-to-be-freezing hands makes me break out in hives. Nothanx.

Some women hate shopping for swimsuits. To them, baring pasty winter skin to the hash light of a dressing room is akin to torture. For others it's jeans; and for some, it's shoes. Regardless of what women's magazines want us to think, shopping is not always the fun, carefree experience they gleefully preach. When your feet are a size eleven, finding properly fitting shoes is an exercise in patience and fortitude. Petite women struggle to hunt down pants that don't sweep the floor; plus-size women endeavor to locate flattering wedding gowns.

I know I'll have to get over my fear of the professional bra fitting, and expose my bosoms to a department store saleslady eventually. I don't want to look fat, or old, or give cause to my clothes not fitting as well as they could (though this pretty vintage floral dress seems made for me - new bra not necessary.) But for now, I'll avoid bra shopping, and focus my stress on something infinitely more challenging: deciding on a new bikini. Pass the Prozac.

So how about you - what's your most dreaded item to shop for? How do you deal with the challenge of shopping for a dreaded item?

Vintage thrifted 1970's silk dress; White Mountain clogs; vintage thrifted satchel; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets; Loft coral ring; Betsey Johnson gold watch