A Swimsuit for Me

As my last post from my tropical nest hideaway, I want to circle back to the end of my first post. It was this: And it is possible to stop judging? Yes, but maybe tomorrow. Ha ha ha. I was judging the horsey blowfish lady. While horsey blowfish is a funny phrase, the judgement on her not being pretty is the exact kind of shit I want to get away from. 

 

I spent all of my last day reading Jes Baker's Things No One Will Tell a Fat Girl: A Handbook for Unapologetic Living. These statistics are what make me retract my statement about horsey blowfish--a statement that only perpetuates the oppression of women (and men) as we bow down to the media who prey on our self-judgement and judgement of each other.

• 81 percent of ten-year-olds are afraid of being fat. 
• These ten-year-olds are more afraid of becoming fat than they are of cancer, war, or losing both of their parents.
• In a survey of girls nine and ten years old, 40 percent have tried to lose weight. 
• 91 percent of women are unhappy with their bodies and resort to dieting. 
• And 5 percent of women naturally possess the body type often portrayed by Americans in the media.

These statistics come from Jes's book and are supported by respectable research. Rants of obesity verging on hysteria (especially child obesity) need to be considered in parallel to statistics like these.

In honor of learning a lot about judgement, differences, beauty, and body image this week, here is my swimsuit story.

 

As soon as I found out I was going to St. Barths, I went online to get a new swimsuit. I dreaded it because my last swimsuit purchase took me months. I must have ordered and returned five different suits. This time I thought maybe a bikini. I'm not talking a teeny stringy thong uncomfortably lodged up my ass. I'm talking a high waisted bottom and supportive bikini top. Why? Because I hate tugging a couple yards of tight Lycra over my flesh. I hate using the bathroom during beach time and then pulling those wet yards of Lycra down a sweaty, sandy body. And I like the feel of air and warm sun on my skin.

The swimsuit Internet shopping started out just like before. The results were picture of after picture of contraptions made to hide the body. Padding, layers of Lycra, ruffles, skirts, dresses even. And worst of all, the models for the plus size swimsuits were not plus size people. How could I tell if any of these would be comfortable on me? They didn't look comfortable. But clearly that wasn't the point. 

They also didn't look good. Mostly black but also many bejeweled or decorated in ribbons, fringes, baubles of all sorts that seemed an obvious tactic to hide the bodies they would encase. The complicated layers of material were made to cover up like a burka. But at least under a burka, you can move, I think. I was losing breath just looking at these things. I pictured myself contorting to get in it, sweating while in it, and cutting it off at the end of the day.

I went on Amazon and dejectedly scrolled through five screens or so when suddenly a page appeared with big models wearing big bikinis that looked cool--both stylistically and temperature-wise. All of the models were African American or Hispanic. Are brown people more confident with their body sizes than white? Or does society hold one race at a different standard? Either way, the standard sucks. Because it is one standard. And only the smallest number of people can meet that standard. 

When I lived in Cameroon, I loved that my big body was the ideal. About skinny people, Cameroonians would hold up a pinky, and say in Pidgen English, "Ah no, not dat one, she done dry up." The bigger a Cameroonian, the more powerful. It was simple logic--if you were fat, you were well fed. If you were well fed, you must have money. And money is power the whole world over. I was in my 20s in Cameroon. Sadly I did not get that having my big body valued was just the same as my big body devalued. The problem is not the size of the body. It's putting value on the size. It's putting value on appearance. We should all be counted as valuable and worthy no matter what we look like.

I never did buy a bikini. Weeks later I bought a black Speedo with some folds and gathers on the belly area. It's not too terrible to get into but still bliss to take off. It's a step away from my other suit which has a skirted top that is a stupid pain to swim in. It floats all around you and gets in the way. But that suit is a step away from the one before it--skirted top AND a skirted bottom. That really restricted any athleticism. The whole thing weighed like 20 pounds when it was wet and just dragged and sagged. 

Some day I will get to the bikini. But for today, I put on my Speedo and a beautiful transparent, flowing cover up that stops upper thigh. I considered wearing just that to breakfast. Many people here go to breakfast in swimsuits and cover ups. While I am transitioning to being accepting and unapologetic of my body, I just couldn't muster the courage to wear only that. I put on Lycra leggings that go just below my knees. Ten minutes into breakfast my legs are so sweaty that they begin to pickle. I wonder if the woman sitting at the next table is thinking--Ah, she has such a pretty face. Too bad she has big, pickled thighs. 

At that thought, I have to laugh. Out loud. Even though I'm alone.