Herve Leger sunsuit, $1,050, Net-a-Porter.com

Jennifer:  At first I thought, God, arguing in favor of sunsuits, what an incredibly difficult position this is to take. Because, after all, sunsuits are anything but practical. They’re incredibly expensive swimsuits that cannot get wet. But then I began to think about the nature of fashion, and I think you’d agree that it’s never supposed to be about mere practicality. Oh, sure some clothes are. But not fashion. Fashion is about beauty.  I think we could quote Ruskin here, who said “remember, the most beautiful things are the most useless – peacocks and lilies, for example.” To dismiss sunsuits simply for not being practical means dismissing everything from feathered hats to gold buttons. It means advocating sackcloth over silk. It defies the very nature of what fashion means. Because fashion is a celebration not only of beauty, but also fantasy and you have to concede that a particular Alexis Carrington fantasy accompanies a sunsuit, and that is remarkable.

Ashley:  Was there ever a moment when you realized you were dead inside, or was it a slower, more gradual thing?

Jennifer:  My insides are filled with jewels and, frankly, a lot of illicit prescription drugs. And my outside is clothed in a $1,050 sunsuit.

Ashley:  Let’s just set aside this whole argument for a moment and say that, while swimsuits promote swimming, sunsuits promote sunbathing, which in turn promotes cancer. Sunsuits are metaphors for you getting cancer.

Jennifer:  You smoke.

Ashley: Fuck.

Jennifer: Just as some people smoke, some people are going to lie by the pool. They might as well look fabulous doing it. It’s not as though the act of being wet kills the cancer.

Ashley:  You can swim inside.  But anyway, fine, sunsuits promote sunspots.

Jennifer:  You could wear a sunsuit for anything. Stop being small minded. I wore one to the grocery store last week, just to be cool. Kind of gave the cashier a little thrill.

Ashley:  That’s worse than smoking.

Jennifer:  I don’t think body snark is appropriate, Ashley.

Ashley:  I’m sorry. It’s the patriarchy inside of me. It makes things very complicated. But sunsuits are stupid. They are swimsuits you cannot get wet.

Jennifer:  Compared to what? Opera length gloves? Gold buttons? Translucent tops? There are a myriad of useless things in fashion. If you want to argue that fashion itself is stupid, that’s an argument you can make. The communists made that real well. But I think it would be surprising, coming from you.

Ashley:  All of those things serve a purpose, Jennifer. Opera length gloves for keeping your delicate, well educated fingers and forearms warm. Gold buttons for holding your… sailor costume…. closed. Translucent tops for getting out of speeding tickets.

Jennifer: Sunsuits are for lazing. Lazing is the best.

Ashley: Hm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

Jennifer: …And using up your disaffected billionaire husband’s excess funds. DYNASTY.

Ashley:  Okay. Fashion isn’t stupid in and of itself. It does stupid things and is often absurd. Like when it makes $900 bathing suits that can’t get wet, which they put on 15 year old eastern European girls to sell to 40 year old Stepford wives, to pair with $1000 heels.

Jennifer:  Right

Ashley:  I’m not going to say this is necessarily offensive, but it is ridiculous.

Jennifer:  Why? It’s not harming anyone. It’s fun. And I honestly hate swimming at the beach. But don’t hate the idea of hanging out in a real cool sunsuit.

Ashley:  Oh, no, if you want to argue about how gross the ocean is, look elsewhere because I am in complete agreement there. Okay. Maybe sunsuits are just another byproduct of fashion’s complete disregard for practicality, or for fashion’s ease with parting foolish wealthy people with their money. But they are not like, ball gowns, say, which serve no technical purpose but are appropriate to specific occasions or tiny hats, which have no function but exist for the same reason. They are swimsuits you cannot swim in.

Jennifer:  I’m confused about how “lounging poolside in a really cool outfit” isn’t a function… but from now on, I’ll be hosting sunsuit parties. Look, a lot of those useless female garments have a purpose we don’t like to talk about: they’re to attract men or intimidate other women. They’re to ensure that we pass on our genes by flaunting magnificent plumage.

Ashley:  Still thinking about Ruskin, I see. I can’t argue that fashion doesn’t get useless. I can argue that if I saw someone in a sunsuit while I was wearing a bathing suit, I’d toss back my head and laugh, run past with much insouciance, and then, I would swim! Because swimming represents freedom. Your sunsuit is a prison that shackles you to dry land. Moreover, Waterworld is awesome. Do you remember how no one is wearing a sunsuit in Waterworld? It’s because they all died.

Jennifer:  The woman with a sunsuit knows she doesn’t like to swim. She appreciates languor, indolence. She may die– yes, in your nightmarish water world, she may die–but that’s because she was always too beautiful for that world.

Ashley:  If you can die from being too beautiful in Waterworld, then why does Kevin Costner live?

Jennifer:  I believe it is because he was a mutant with gills.