Once upon a time, part of my remit as a beauty journalist would’ve included writing something annually on how to get ‘beach body’ ready, that very 1990s notion of preening and primping before being ready to ‘display’ oneself to the public. Despite or perhaps because I took part in the charade with great gusto at one point, I am glad the collective has moved away from that insane idea that a few weeks, or even month,s of panic-induced draconian measures, such as ten sit-ups every hourm on the hour, would suddenly magic away my self-consciousness. It turns out that losing that idea rather than weight has been freeing for me and many others, helping us to release our barely-clothed forms in bright daylight with greater ease.
That said, personal bugbears still abound. For one of my best friends, it is body hair, and she will carefully remove ‘every last bastard’ before wearing a bikini. For another, it is their Celtic paleness, and they meticulous apply fake tan on every other day of a holiday and even cart around the correct mitt and other tanning paraphernalia required to aid a deep tan.
For me, it’s skin quality. Perhaps a hangover from the persistent acne that plagued me for years, I feel desperately self-conscious if my skin isn’t smooth and unblemished. I put time and effort into it being both.
This is a year-round pursuit for me — but of course removing layers during the summer acquaints other people’s eyes with my skin and therefore ups the ante. Ove.