I always think of summer as the best time, the most fun, freeing, and beautiful months of the year. So, how come I also dread it? For a season that brings so much joy, why does it also make me feel so vulnerable? Is it insecurity? Fear? Or both?
There’s something comforting about winter. The reassurance of knowing you don’t need to fit into your jeans because you can elegantly conceal any outfit under a statement coat. The relieving fact that it’s so cold you’re wrapped up from head to toe, the only body part visible to be perved on is your face.
We often hear heterosexual men say, ‘I prefer a natural girl who doesn’t wear a lot of makeup,’ which begs the question, ‘who asked you?’ For a start, natural makeup done well, in my opinion, ends up taking way longer than a full face. But it’s also an independent choice; it’s a means of expressing yourself and how you feel. It’s the same as piecing together an outfit or a ‘lewk,’ as the kids would say. It makes me wonder: Where do our summer insecurities come from? Are we just looking for validation in the wrong places?
I didn’t think I was the kind of single woman who cared what men thought. But, when I think of what makes me uncomfortable in summer, it isn’t just comparing myself to beautiful, slender women. It’s the comparison with the lives they lead and the significant others they have in tow. It comes from looking at other women as competition. Which I never thought I would be able to admit. But it’s true. I upload photos to dating apps hoping that I stand out among the abundant beautiful women in London, also on there, vying for the attention of the same men.
I’m very comfortable with how I look, but I’m not deluded; I don’t have muscle tone or bits that don’t jiggle. I have a shining personality, don’t get me wrong. But you can’t see that in my bikini. In a world of Social Media and Tabloids that survive by pitting women against one another, no wonder we feel immense pressure to stand out in a very specific, physical way. Skinny used to be the ideal. Now it’s curvy too, which is great. But not just curvy – no, that would be too easy. Curvy in the RIGHT places. Curvy which is often achieved with surgery – passed off as the result of diet and exercise – then shoved down our throats like it has the power to solve world peace.
Were you ever one of those kids that marvelled over the simplicity of starving your body of carbs or even calories to drastically lose weight? I was OBSESSED. It was the culture I grew up in as an overweight adolescent. Even when I managed to shrink my ‘built like a brick shithouse’ body into a size ten, I still felt gross. Honestly, it’s no wonder when I think of how much I was depriving myself of. I never even considered that body positivity and self-acceptance came from a mental place. Sorting out my head was the ONLY way I have ever truly accepted and loved myself. It’s not one steady stream of confidence. It’s a journey like any other, filled with peaks and troughs, but it’s MY journey. I’m holding the map, I’m calling the shots, and I finally have control.
My ass might always be a bit flat. My stomach might be a little chubs. My chin might have a distant cousin beneath it (that’s sometimes more like a prominent sibling). But I am the only me, the only person who walks in these shoes and the only person who can fill my life with the joy and abundance that I always dreamed of. No matter what time of year.
So basically, this summer, when it’s hot out, wear the damn bikini.
We Only Get One Body 