Bikini vs. Tank; it’s all about age

If you want a quick primer on the vast differences between a teenager and her middle-aged mother, go bathing suit shopping.

I regard it as a torture to be endured only when my old suit has become more transparent than decency permits. My daughter, 16, tries on bikinis for giggles. If I had the discipline, I’d fast for a week before wiggling into Spandex. She eats a burger and fries on the way


Any real woman -- those among us who wear double-digits in sizes, have faced many of life’s hurdles and can balance a baby on a hip, while supervising homework, cooking dinner and fielding calls from work – find this particular shopping more humiliating than just about anything.

Let’s not even go into the psychology of the sadist who decided leg and arm holes should meet somewhere in the middle of your body. Except for the couple of dozen women from another planet who pose for “Sports Illustrated” swimsuit edition each year, let’s not pretend that anyone looks good in this little. And let’s not assume that everyone wants to wear your grandmother’s bathing suit with the skirt.

To be fair, I’m not circus-quality huge, just more ample than I once was, and wish that I had the confidence, though not the girth of these bikini-clad ladies.


The web, naturally, is loaded with buying online bathing suits, which may be what online porn is like – I think you need to be there to experience it. Still, among the places to try are Instyle.

As my lithe daughter settles on a sequined, strapless bikini, (I decided when she was 3 that she’s actually a very small drag queen), I opted for a black and white maillot with the basic underpinnings of chainmail.


She had a great time, came out with her shopping bag swinging on her wrist. I was looking at my wrists also, but for a different reason.