06/27/2016
Before leaving to Lisbon, my friend Greg asked me, “what’s the one thing you’re looking forward to doing when you get there?” Being that I’m a desert rat, I told him I couldn’t wait to go to the beach. While I admit that the call of a cool cocktail and silky beach sand are what initially summoned me to the shore, I gained much more than a day-drinking hangover during the afternoon I spent there.
Choosing among the many beautiful beaches surrounding Lisbon proved difficult, but ultimately, our AirBNB host recommended we go to Cascais, Portugal, because it was among the easiest to get to using public transportation. When we arrived, I was shocked by not only the sheer amount of people (tourists and locals included), but also by the sheer amount of women wearing thong and pseudo-thong (tanga) bikini bottoms. Coming from the US, where swimsuits are comparatively modest, I felt…well…overdressed in my full coverage bikini bottoms. Women of all ages and all sizes donned their thongs with confidence and dare I say grace, giving me lots to think about in relation to my own hang ups about my body.
Whereas US mass media creates what feminist philosopher Susan Bordo has called an “empire of images” that serves to normalize tall, thin, ageless, plastic, white, cellulite-and-stretch-mark-free bodies striving for perfection, it was empowering for me to see women–grandmothers and mothers even–owning that beach and not being subject to gross objectification for it. Men weren’t stopping to whistle or cat call or stare. Everyone was interacting as though they were clothed in winter coats. Seeing this way of socializing prompted me think about rape culture’s most tired and fallacious of arguments: she must’ve been dressed too provocatively.
And it also made me wonder why I have ever felt insecure about my own body. I have always thought I didn’t belong in a barely-there bikini, let alone a thong. I have a pancake booty and my teenage years branded me with stretch marks (tiger stripes). Then again, I live in a society that has conditioned me to be fearful of my sexuality and to see myself as other because I don’t fit the standard mold of beauty produced by the empire.
Even though my family and friends call me pretty, and even though on good days I feel deserving of that title, I, like most women I know, feel doubts about this body that carries me. This body that has birthed a son. This body that grants me the privilege of travel and of adventure.
So, in seeing all those beautiful women rocking their barely-there bottoms on the beach, I felt a moment of sheer gratitude. I felt a wave of confidence come in from the tide and, as it washed over me, I too felt beautiful.
Travelin'Round Brown 