his is your annual August reminder that summer isn’t over.
It’s anything but, in fact — though it’s everything butts. Everything limbs and skin and bellies and elbows. It’s a naked season. Physically, emotionally. Legend has it summer air’s heated solely for the purpose of encouraging your chosen body acres to have their moments in the sun. Take that metaphor and run with it, or take it literally and apply sunscreen liberally. Summer is yours to be.
Summer is high beach season. It’s high pool season, personal-bathtub-island season, too-hot-for-bed-sheets season. This time of year, all sorts of cool coverage clothes are there if you want ’em — I want them. But simultaneously, swimsuits beg to be worn, their shoulder straps and wind-blown ruffles up high into the air like raised hands saying, “Pick me! Pick me! Over here! Pick me!”
Their intentions, not that I blame them, are selfish: they want to show off their polka dots, their stripes, their cuts, scallops and various fabrics. They want to take a dip in the ocean — with you, though, which is sweet.
They want you to get out there, in them, in your favorite pair of sunglasses. I heard them talking about it; they want you to put on earrings and hats; they want you to embrace seashells as accessories. Through you, they hope to live vicariously.
Don’t let that add any undue pressure. There is still more than enough time — seven weeks, by the official calendar — to do everything you said you would this summer.
But also, just preemptively: If “all” you accomplish on your list is a few good deep breaths and at least one authentic, hits-you-like-an-Atlantic-Ocean-wave-kind-of-laugh by the time your official summer does wrap, that feels solid. It’s certainly more than enough.
Still I repeat: Summer is not over. It is so far from over that I refuse to end that sentence with a “yet.” Take a gel pen and mark a reminder on the back of your hand; pilot an airplane (you’ll be fine) and sky-write it up above for your friends; fold a piece of paper into a megaphone then announce it. If no one listens, repeat it to yourself, to your toes, to your belly button: it’s still summer. And you’re the sun.
Art Direction/Production: Emily Zirimis
Photography: Tory Rust
Production Assistant: Louisiana Mei Gelpi
Stylist: Nicole Chapoteau
Market: Elizabeth Tamkin
Photography Assistant: Alex Sapp
Retouching: Paola Denyce Badoui
Hair: Neal Pittman
Makeup: Regard Tang
Makeup Assistant: Mariel Marino
Models: Juliette Branker, Devin Halbal, Caitlin Conway, Ariel June Franklin, Kendra Austin, Tehya Elam