With bathing suit season officially here, it’s time to decide whether or not you’ll be going bikini, one-piece or that delightful invention that falls somewhere in the middle: the tankini. If you’re like me, you’ve been waiting until the last minute to make the decision, because you’re afraid of what winter and pizza may have done to your waistline.

I have never been one for one-piece swimsuits. Despite my mother always having my sister and I in one-pieces because she feel little girls should not be dressing like adults, I only owned a single one-piece that I picked out myself briefly when was 11. I was going through that awkward phase where I was pissed off at the world that I had boobs all of a sudden and my dreams of always being young and unscathed by maturity were shattered. My pact with the devil apparently fell through somewhere along the line. By the time I reached 13 and it was clear that my boobs probably couldn’t possibly grow anymore and I was somewhat comfortable in my body that reached puberty way before everyone else, I officially went bikini and never looked back.

However, thanks to society, I can’t help but question whether or not I should even be wearing a bikini. I’m no longer some 20-year-old with perky breasts and a frame that isn’t without “extra love,” as I call it. I should probably be doing several sit-ups a day, if we’re to listen to society’s idea of what makes beauty, before I even dare to look in the direction of a bikini, but I’m just not a sit-ups kinda a gal. I do yoga whenever the mood strikes, and go for a run if I’m dealing with stress because it’s healthier than screaming into a pillow (so I’m told), but besides walking everywhere in the city, I’m just not into exercising. The one gym membership I had for three months expired with me having walked in only once, looking around at the machinery, then bailing because, well, it was around the corner from this great margarita place. I have never stepped in a gym again, although I’m kind enough to walk by the window of it and wave to people on the machines while downing a funnel cake that I picked up at street fair. Street fair season is one of the many reasons I live here.

But as someone who scoffs at society and it’s bullshit standards, by mid-June I put my questioning and doubt aside, slip into my new bikini for the season and go traipsing around this beach and that, and of course my favorite solo spot in Central Park by Turtle Pond. I may not have a figure like Bar Refaeli, but considering those models are the one-percent in the world, I try to ignore my Vogue and just go for it.

So the question is: to wear or not to wear a bikini? Are you ever too old for one or can we all just pretend we’ll look as hot as Helen Mirren when we get up there in age? Does one need to be a skinny-minny to wear a bikini or can we admit that no matter your size, as long as you’re comfortable, you should just go for it and critics be damned?

 

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