A Remembrance of Bathing Suits Past

It was the Friday of the 4th of July weekend and I decided to stop into Old Navy to return a pair of size 8 shorts that were too small. Now most women will understand that there was not an option to just go in and buy the larger size—that was Old Navy’s problem. How dare they change the sizing I thought. They have some nerve--they just lost a customer. As I continue my walk through the cavernous space and I come across a hot pink bikini that catches my eye and something about the cut of it makes me think, “maybe there’s a chance I can get away with it.” Red Flag #1 – if you’re contemplating wearing a bikini and the phrase “get away with it” comes into your mind at any point during said contemplation you need to put the thing down and walk away. You don’t get away with a bikini, you can either wear it or you can’t.

And yet, there I was in the Old Navy at Herald Square contemplating buying a hot pink bikini. I could feel that old denial that used to operate when I was much heavier rearing it’s head and convincing me, it will be OK this could look OK.

I quickly walk to the counter to make the exchange.

It is at this point that I would like to introduce you to Anthony. Anthony was the poor, unfortunate, employee that happened to be working the register that fateful Friday who also made the mistake of saying to me when I put the bathing suit on the counter: “will that be all?” When it comes to my body issues I have struggled with a kind of turrets my whole life. It’s something I definitely have in check but every once in a while it gets the best of me and when I answered Anthony, I couldn’t believe what I was saying. “Yes, that will be all and can you believe that I actually think that my fat ass is going to fit into this bathing suit?” Anthony tries to hide his surprise but letting out a chuckle and then says “Oh, no I’m sure it’s going to look great, Anthony knows.” What he doesn’t know is not to challenge the angry monster. “Really, I said? Then can you give me your cell phone number so that when I try it on at home and it looks terrible I can call you and scream?” I knew that I crossed the line with that one. Anthony laughs again and responds with: I’m sure it’s going to look great.” I realized that if I pushed the conversation any further, I’d find myself being escorted out of the store by security so I just said, “make sure you give me the receipt and don’t put it in the bag. I want to be able to return this when it doesn’t fit.” I had to have the last word.

I left the store, bathing suit in hand and went to meet up with my friend Genie. Genie is 5’8” and weighs about 115lbs. but she watches every morsel that she puts in her mouth and obsesses over gaining an ounce. It was good that I was meeting with her and not another friend who would try to take Anthony’s side in this. I wanted someone who would really get it and validate me. I didn’t want to hear another version of Anthony’s lies.

After I told her the story she gave me the following suggestion: after you paid for the suit, you should have gone into the dressing room and tried it on. Then you could have walked out onto the sales floor and screamed over to him “hey Anthony, the bathing suit doesn’t look so great does it?” Looks pretty bad, doesn’t it Anthony? Right? Look at me Anthony, the shit doesn’t fit. No this is not what looking good looks like Anthony. I told you, didn’t I?”

Genie and I were both roaring in the restaurant thinking of this scenario and I kept thinking, if only I had the nerve.

I went home after that and shoved the bathing suit into a drawer for four weeks because I really, really wanted Anthony to be right. So who do you think was right in the end? Anthony or Me? The answer is: I was! OK, maybe each of us was a little right. The top looked fine, but below the waist not so good. What Anthony needs to know but doesn’t is that I wore that bikini anyway with my sarong and yes, I looked pretty good.