over
I
N
The Joys Of
Finding a
Bathing Suit.
(Not).
read in the newspaper the oth-
er day that even supermodel
Kathy Ireland, who has ap-
peared on the cover of more
Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues
than any other model, hates the
way she looks in a bathing suit.
Yes, even Kathy, who looks con-
siderably better than good, thinks
she looks bad. Well, what about us
common folk?
bathing suit. For me, standing in
front of a three-way mirror in a
bathing suit is a particularly cruel
form of punishment, and a reminder
for every sit-up not done and every
fatty food savored.
This season, before starting out,
I called a few friends to see if my
bathing suit paranoia was an isolated
case.
The first friend I called is neither
For me, trying on bathing suits fat nor thin but she has large thighs.
ranks right up there among life's (Please don't try to figure out who
most horrific moments. I'd rather you are.) "I'd rather eat glass," she
face the dentist drill without Novo- told me. "I only go when rm having
cain or get a pap smear at the gyne- a thin day. But then I realize that my
cologist than peruse the racks for a legs are still there," she said. She
Gi
related a tip her mother gave her.
"Nothing enhances the body like
concealment."
Another friend has been on every
diet known to mankind. (You know
who you are. You were once on a liq-
uid diet for six months.) So, when I
asked her how she approached shop-
ping for a bathing suit, she replied,
"Oh, I do drugs. You know, I'm not
an addict or anything. I only shop for
a bathing suit every 10 years. But,
when I do, Igo out to lunch first and
order a vodka straight up. My secret
is buying fabulous cover-ups. I put
on the cutest top and never take it off
in public. If anybody asks, I just say
N
BY CARLA JEAN
ANN REBECCA FE ILD
SCHWARTZ
I'm allergic to the sun."
The third friend is a thin friend.
The one who craves chocolate and
eats it. "Even thin people hate the
way they look," she said, even before
I'd told her about Ms. Ireland. "I
never fill up the bra cups; that's
depressing," she continued. "Have
you seen the new styles? Ugly. They
are from the 1920s with ruffles and
skirts and panels."
Yes, the jokers who design these
suits get much of my blame. Have
they no mothers? Sometimes the
legs are cut so high, you need a bikini
wax every other day. And the bust
line is never right Either it flattens
you out like some 5-year-old or your
bust walks into the pool area five
minutes before you do.
Then there are the salespeople.
Always young and thin. "Hi, I'm
Monica; let me know if I can help
you." Sure, Monica; first rd like you
to make 20 pounds of my flesh vanish
immediately. Then find a bathing suit
that flatters my remaining figure.
Monica, can't you see I want to be
alone? Monica leaves for 10 seconds.
"Can I come in?" she chirps. Then,
without waiting for an answer, she
barges right in the dressing room
while my bra is halfway off.
It's not just Monica. There are
mysterious physical forces at work,
too, forces related to fluorescent light
tubes and reflective glass. The
comedian Rita Rudner believes that
the dressing rooms for bathing suits
are like prison cells with cruel light-
ing. After you try on the bathing suits,
you have hallucinations. You keep
having flashbacks hike a bad LSD trip,
and then you need therapy.
Which brings up the hidden costs
of trying on a bathing suit. Psychi-
atric help is expensive, and, to my
knowledge, bathing-suit phobia is
not covered by Blue Cross. Nor is
liposuction, another natural outcome
of an afternoon of swimsuit shopping.
I can only hope Hillary is making
some provisions in the new health
plan. ❑
ST(LE • SUMMER 1994
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