One thing that is important to know about me is that I was a SUPER fat kid.
Don’t worry about remembering it because I will remind you every chance I get.
When I say fat, I was. It wasn’t like “She’ll grow out of it.” It was more like “Should you get her thyroid checked?” I’m painting this too broad: It was a cross between “My 600-pound life and Chunk from Goonies.” Perfect.
The summer of 1989, ALL this chunky preteen wanted in my whole life was a monokini. You know, the bathing suit that looks like a one piece that someone die cut a circle out of in the middle? Like a bikini, but still with the sides attached? YES. That was it. They were fashion forward, exciting and this fat kid HAD to have one.
I began the slow beg to my mother right after spring break. I had seen some beautiful monokinis while we were in Destin. In fact, if you were in Destin around 1989 and felt visually assaulted while wearing a monokini, I apologize. Somewhere in my psyche, I really felt like this was a viable alternative to for me. It had more material than a bikini, but wasn't the full one piece circus tent I was forced to wear because I was carrying a pesky 60 extra pounds. It was me literally having my cake and eating it, too. Which is the only metaphor for this situation, a cake based one.
My mom was pretty big on incentivizing us to realize our dreams, so when the monokini summit actually took place, she told me that if I could lose 10-pounds between then and summer, it was mine. That wasn't harsh in like a Dance Moms way. It was entirely necessary and if we are being honest, she should have said 30.
I bought enough Walkman batteries to burn off 10-pounds as I walked our neighborhood to the sweet sounds of Janet Jackson and her Rhythm Nation. I didn’t just lose 10-pounds, I lost 11.
That next week, my Mom proudly loaded me up into our Lincoln Continental barge and drove to the only kids boutique in our small, western Kentucky town to get my very own monokini.
We arrived at the store and after what felt like hour long pleasantries with the owner, we got down to business. “Where are your monokini’s?”
“Oh, gosh. I think we have a few left. Let’s go see…”
Slight setback. The battle, not the war.
“Here we go! We have a size 4/6 and a 14/16.”
It was even more beautiful in the fluorescent-lit dressing room. It was the one I had been eyeing ever since they had put it out right after Christmas. I had dreamed about wearing this most oddly designed bathing suit EVERY SINGLE DAY of the upcoming summer. This would be it. It would be my coming of age summer. Boys would notice me, girls would hate me and I would get more babysitting jobs than I could handle. (Because parents would think "If she looks that great in a monokini, she must be fantastic with children?)
Pure adrenaline was running through my veins.. this was it.
MonokiniKatie.
Oh. My. God.
This was the most hideous thing I had ever seen. I mean, I was a fat kid, but even this was bad. It LITERALLY highlighted my worst feature; my gut. It was like a plastic surgeon had circled where to do the lipo. Or like I fell in vacuum stomach first. The bathing suit was pulling all my ample gut fat to the front and putting it on parade. I could have highlighted it with that pink zinc oxide from the 80’s like a highlighter. And that was after the 45-minutes it had taken me to even get it on. It was like a swimsuit made of riddles. Self-esteem had never been my strong suit, but it was a better suit than this one.
I was defeated. Dreams dashed. Just like that, the coolest summer I was ever going to have was gone. And it wasn't even entirely about my weight; it was just a REALLY bad fashion choice.
My poor mom always knew when clothing had bested me. I didn’t even show her the suit that made me look like the front end of an airplane. She put her arm around me and we walked back to the car. I was deep in thought that all this sadness could probably get me a trip to Dairy Queen when my mom said “You know, I got a new catalog at home with some cute suits. It’s called Lands End. Let’s see what they have…”
We skipped DQ adding insult to injury and while I ate a Slim Fast bar, my Mom pulled out this catalog and we began the swimsuit sojourn again. Pages and pages of mix and match, one, two and somehow three piece suits? The possibilities were endless. There were matching cover-ups and flip flops and not a single model under the age of 30 to be found. And 1989 30-year-old model is like a 60-year-old model today. It was Chicos. I was basically 11 trying to get a bathing suit from Chicos. But this is the hand I had been dealt and I would find a BEAUTIFUL suit with spandex and a tummy hiding ruffle or just a fancy cover-up. The suit my Mom pushed the most was black with like a faux white, almost like a turtleneck? As an adult and a mother now, I feel like it was the bathing suit form of a nun's habit. To that, I say "Well played, Mom."
Land's End was who I was now. Time to embrace the end of the land.
Then there it was. Shining like a light on the last page.
The tankini swim skirt. The answer to all my problems. And the glimpse into all my future summers.
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