There comes a time around the world, where women simultaneously scream in horror realising bikini season is upon them. We are exposed to what seems to be every magazine cover spouting the bikini diet, the latest celebrity fitness DVD or food fad that will drop inches whilst we sleep.
Now coming from Jersey we boast that we have more sunshine hours than anywhere else in the UK, however the reality is we still don’t have masses of beach days which are two piece viable. So my “normal” (hardly normal to a sane person) bikini ritual would be realising you only have 30 days to that holiday and you’ve just had your 2nd helping of cake, so there is only one thing for it; a 3rd piece of cake whilst you ponder how to drop 20lbs in a month with the least amount of effort.
So begins the juicing, green teas and switching to slimline tonic, because let’s face it, if your making all these sacrifices a G&T is your reward. You finally manage to walk onto that Mediterranean beach with a bit of dignity and you’re on holiday, so all the rules go out the window and you gain the 10lb you lost by day two!!
Living in Kuwait we enjoy amazing weather 10 months of the year and whilst the locals are still wearing hoodies in May, you can spot the British expats a mile off as we strip down to flip flops and tees at 20 degrees in February. So to my horror bikini season comes way faster here and the effort has to be maintained as it last 10 months not 10 days.
Summer bodies are made in winter
A Kuwait winter isn’t long enough! Yes that’s my silent screams you can hear.
Shopping for this years new beach accessorie, I walk past the images of a well known US store where Angels are tanned and toned in neon patterns laying on golden sands (I’m sure my male readers lingered on that image). I then go through the racks trying to find a matching set and this is where the annual pain begins….
- Bottoms to skimpy; top ok
- Top no support; bottoms ok
- Bottoms to big; top too small
- Top fits; bottoms too small
- All just blah
- Cry in the fitting room
- Get cake and a grande caramel latte with extra whip cream
Why is it that retailers still don’t get this? I don’t want tiny string bottoms, I have to deal with my tummy that isn’t that of an 18 year old, so I have to resort to granny pants? How is this fair? Ok that’s my Bridget Jones’ pants rant over.
I’m not sure why at 30 something (yeah I’m going with that rather than mid thirties) I still can’t learn to love the body I have. This year Ashley Graham made the cover of Sports Illustrated sized 14/16 and looked incredible, so why can’t I at, OMG I’m admitting this in public, a size 12 rock the beach without a care in the world?
Yes fashion mags, perfect insta pages, movies and celebrity obsession all feed into my fear. But the biggest fear mongerer is me, the most critical eyes aren’t the fellow bathers but mine. Recently, there have been a lot of media debates about body shaming but we shame ourselves. How can anyone love you if you don’t love yourself? Self help drivel maybe, but there lies the truth.
So I will walk onto the beach this season and I won’t see myself as Jabba the Hutt but Princess Leia in her gold bikini.