On the ‘Bikini Body’

I’m currently eating—and thoroughly enjoying—a giant chocolate-dipped shortbread cookie as I write this. (Gratuitous, but relevant. Promise.)

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It’s that time of year when it’s finally appropriate to order iced coffees and wear things without sleeves! And while it’s not quite warm enough to ditch the ankle boots and coats altogether, we’re in the mood to shed, shed, shed. We’re talking spontaneous bobs (Daria Werbowy, Emily Weiss of Into the Gloss, Karlie Kloss, et. al), itchy layers, and winter weight. “Winter weight.” I say that most delicately in quotes.

What is a bikini body, anyway? Skinny, or six-pack abs? Long ab lines, or just no apparent muffin top? Regardless of its true definition (which is sketchy if anything at all), it’s apparent that the “bikini body”—or in less politically correct terms, the only bodies that “should” be allowed in bikinis, are the ones that are thin. Not even fit—just thin. Meaning no squidgy bits, no cellulite, no stretch marks, nothing. Let’s forget that we’re excluding the majority of the female population here—not to mention, totally forgetting an entire sector of our curvier friends and sisters.

I’ll be the first to say that I’ve fallen for the catchphrase and this ideal form. I’d like to attribute it to the way I am: I’m very much in tune with my body and what it needs and wants, why is why I’m forever in search of the perfect workout for the “perfect body.” Still, I wonder just how much my “aesthetic”—whatever I find beautiful or normal or whatever—is influenced and conditioned by society and media. Who gave me my ideas? Why do I think what I think is perfect?

I’ll also be the first to say that I’m well aware this is a topic beaten into the ground; there are plenty of writers and feminists who have done fantastic jobs at analyzing and discussing the issue better than I. What I have to say only scratches the surface, if at all. Here I am, a fairly average girl with an on-and-off relationship with fitness (we’re both passionate types that often butt heads; it’s all or nothing for better or worse)—who has never, and probably will never, fully love her body in a bikini.

There. I said it.

And the thing is, I consider myself realistic. I know what my body is capable of looking like if I put x amount of time and effort into it, but I also know how much time I have to spare between work, classes, and life. I know the body type I’ve been given and of course I feel blessed to a certain degree—but I also can’t help but think, just what if I was that much skinnier? I’m sure I’m not the only one with this sentiment—which leads me to thinking just how powerful, how inspired/degrading pop culture can make a woman feel. How “wrong” her body is for a bikini.

It’s taken me a few years to realize this: there’s no such thing as a “bikini” body. Or a “bikini-ready” body. Would I love to look like Nicole Scherzinger still? Hell yes. But what I have to come to terms is that these are women who have the means to spend that time to get that aspirational body. Oh it’s attainable (the Victoria’s Secret Angels are living proof); I have incredible respect for women who dedicate hours in the gym to get out what they put in. But is it for me? Maybe not; maybe one day. Do I aspire to be a neon-wearing, high-pony sporting gym bunny? Still do. But if there’s an ideal body I want to achieve, it’ll be because I love the endorphin kick after a good workout, and because I love how I feel, how I look—to me—in the mirror, in the nude. It won’t be—or shouldn’t be—because I’m about to bare my all for the unknown public. It won’t be—and shouldn’t be—just for this one season. I’d be doing it all for the wrong reasons and doing me an injustice. Aren’t I worth the effort year-round?

Or, better yet. Maybe I’ll be anti-bikini. (Not likely, given growing collection.) Or, maybe, I’ll wear a bikini anyway, just because I can. Not because I have a “bikini body,” or because I’m “bikini-ready,” but because who’s to say I can’t? I’m trying to get rid of these squidgy bits, yes, but these squidgy bits are mine and my own. If I won’t be proud of them, who will (aside from you, Mom)? These are my curves and they make me me. I am woman, hear me roar. Something to hold, you know?

I’m just typing at this point. Long story short: I have a love-hate relationship with the “bikini body.” I love it. I want it, I aspire for it…but at the same time, I hate how it makes me, and the woman around me, feel. The worst part is that it doesn’t stop with ourselves: we project. Compete. The negativity points inwards and beams out to the women around us, including the ones we love most.

And yet here I am, planning out next week’s schedule to reacquaint myself with Tracy Anderson and her beloved method. Go figure.

Thoughts? Let’s hear it before I wear out my fingers. 

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xx

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