I want to be profound and say my interest in one piece bathing suits began as a revolt against the over-saturated market of skin. If we’ve become so jaded during this age of transparency that nipples have become just another accessory, then there is a chance that I’m looking to modesty for a new kind of subversive statement.
There’s a chance that when outfits became seemingly incomplete without showing at least some midriff, I began to seek refuge in the irony of what some may consider “matronly” swimwear.
There’s a chance I’ve been been secretly dying to for an excuse to write the word normcore, then use it in a sentence (aren’t one pieces high on that list?), and perhaps the greatest chance of all is that I didn’t feel like doing sit-ups all winter and am now leaning heavy on a trend that more or less hides this fact.
But the reality — the very boring, rather shallow truth — is that I spent the first 4 years of my aquatic life naked, and the other 22 wrestling with my bikinis so that I wouldn’t accidentally become naked (on the beach, or public pool, or backyard barbecue, what have you) and for once I think it would be nice to take a swim without worrying about whether or not I just flashed the neighbors.
Not that I’ve ever had any complaints, badum-cha! Here all night, folks.
Perhaps even more true is that I’m just into the way they look. Ever since Jenni Avins wrote an open letter to J. Crew asking Jenna Lyons (and co.) to resurrect their perfect scoop-back swimsuit of yesteryear, I’ve been reconsidering their aesthetic worth.
My mom used to a wear a black one. She appeared so at ease.
And there’s something beautiful in the simplicity of “one.” There’s no stress of perfecting the mismatched top-to-bottom. There’s no grocery list of styles: the bandeau for zero tan lines, the triangle for zero support, the cup for extra cleavage, the fringe for decoration, plus the need to pack them all so you can Instagram a new suit daily.
When you have one solid, good item that requires zero outfitting, zero consideration, I mean, that’s freedom.
Call it normcore. Call it momcore. Call it boring, if you must.
But for me, the idea of having just one piece to consider before diving headfirst into the ocean — that’s vacation.