I remember the last time I looked good in a bikini. It was a tiny string number—pink with multicolored polka dots—and all eyes were on me.
I was 3 years old.
Since then, I’ve had a tumultuous relationship with swimwear. (I did wear a bikini twice on spring break my junior year of college: My Puerto Rican besties are the most beautiful and body positive girls on the island and, if only for a week, I drank their Kool-Aid while we frolicked in the Caribbean surf.)
Truthfully, no part of swimsuit season has ever been easy for me.