July is almost upon us, the weather is sweltering, and it is the time of year when middle-aged women turn their thoughts to their beach wardrobe. The question is not so much jewelled sandals or flipflops, but that eternal quandary: bikini or one-piece?
Are you the type of woman who, in pursuit of beach respectability and a nod to increasingly flabbier flesh, heads straight to the cossie department to purchase a selection of sturdy swimsuits? Or do you say “heck no” and grab an armful of day-glo bikinis in a bid to stay on-trend?
I am firmly in the second camp, and I have no intention of ever hanging up my itsy-bitsy. That being said, styling out the beach post-midlife can be tricky, especially now that Gwyneth Paltrow has set a new standard for fifty-something loveliness. She looked stunning showing off her amazing figure -complete with a washboard stomach – on a luxury yacht in Sardinia recently.
But why should wearing a skimpy bikini over 50 be such a big deal anyway? Sunbathing and beach holidays are when you should be your most fun, carefree self, not fretting about the size of your belly or the age of your thighs.
Which is why, every year, I think nothing of lounging poolside in my bikini. I may now be 64, but my two-piece love affair is less about narcissism and more about attitude. I find it liberating to feel my body drinking in the golden rays. There is something about heat and near nakedness that makes me feel fun and footloose.
Wearing a bikini is also the only way you’re going to get a proper tan. Nobody wants a swathe of contrasting white stomach. I am careful to cover up with sunscreen to avoid burning and sun damage, but there is nothing like a full-body sunkiss to make you feel and look healthy.
Don’t get me wrong; I am under no delusion that I look like my 30-year-old self. Like most women, I’ve found that despite hitting 10,000 steps a day and banishing white carbs, middle-aged spread and saggy bottom syndrome are incredibly hard to tackle. But that doesn’t mean my body has to be put out to pasture.
If you want to rule the beach, you need to own your wobbly bits, whatever the bikini police might think. Frankly, I am not hankering after youthful, flawless perfection (who has the time or the inclination?), and I have no intention of uploading a belfie to Instagram. But I still see my body as something to be celebrated. We women should.
After all, do men cover up the minute their stomachs start to resemble anything less than a washboard? Do they heck. In my experience, they don’t even notice if they’re getting a bit tubby. I have lost count of boyfriends who happily sunbathed and sauntered along the shoreline despite packing a generous midlife paunch. No one minds, including me.
Yet, go to any beach, and you will see women spending their time in a series of ill-fated sarongs to cover up any sight of dimpled flesh. It’s all so fretful and counterproductive. Mind you, a bit of style goes a long way: a pair of oversized sunglasses, a big floppy sun hat, and a pair of flip-flops and a floaty kaftan on the walk from villa to beach/pool.
But when it comes down to it, your best accessory is a big smile and absolute confidence. People usually think what you let them think. When it comes to flashing the flesh over 50, if you think you look great, others will too. It’s a win-win. Now, where’s my metallic silver number?
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