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Apr 20, 2024

Women don't sunbathe topless to be sexy

As I watched yet another grandmother peel off her bikini top, I wondered why I was being so shy To Catalonia, a region of Spain that has much to recommend it: Roman ruins; delicious tapas; incredible

As I watched yet another grandmother peel off her bikini top, I wondered why I was being so shy

To Catalonia, a region of Spain that has much to recommend it: Roman ruins; delicious tapas; incredible architecture; stunning mountains; and last, but by absolutely no means least, beautiful beaches featuring breasts of all shapes and sizes.

Yes, you heard that last one right: beautiful beaches featuring breasts of all shapes and sizes. To be precise: completely unleashed, unconfined breasts of all shapes and sizes, not hidden away in burdensome bikini tops or suffocating swimsuits. On every beach, in every town, women of all ages walking around on the sand and in the sea completely and utterly topless. Sunbathing proudly, happily and without a care in the world.

Oh, how I envied them! Oh, how I wished I could let my own patatas bravas free for an afternoon of unfettered relaxation! Motherhood and menopause have combined in such a way that it is almost 15 years since I last unleashed my nipples in public (on purpose), but as I watched yet another grandmother peel off her bikini top, I wondered why I was being so shy. Because everyone in Catalonia sunbathes topless. And I mean everyone. Young people, old people … it is so popular that you look almost prudish in a string bikini.

The right to sunbathe topless is so important in this part of Spain that in June the Catalan government introduced new laws to give women the right to remove their bikini tops in public. The department of equality and feminism announced that any authorities would be fined up to £430,000 if they told sunbathers to cover up. It is their responsibility to “defend against discrimination for any motive, including sex or gender, religious convictions or dress”.

I always think of Europeans as being very relaxed when it comes to beach clothing, or a lack of it. But it turns out that topless sunbathing has been under threat over the past 15 or so years. A poll of French women in 2010 found that, contrary to popular, Brigitte Bardot belief, the majority wouldn’t dream of whipping off their tops on the beach.

“Only Wags, chavs and hookers go topless these days,” said Joan Collins at around the same time. In Sorrento, last year, tourists were fined for “inappropriate attire”, while the new Spanish rules were in response to a rise in bans by public swimming pools.

“I think it’s very odd that people should be getting so funny about topless sunbathing given it’s never been easier to see a naked breast,” I mentioned, when I learnt about the reasons for the new rules.

“Do you think the people complaining have spent so much time on the internet that they’ve forgotten what a real pair of boobs looks like? Is that what the fuss is about? Are the boobs not perky enough for them?”

“I wish you’d be quiet,” said my husband, whose eyes were clamped firmly on the latest Tom Holland (not a euphemism).

“I won’t be quiet!” I protested.

“I won’t hide away! I’m going to go topl-“

“MUM!” screamed my tweenager. “Can’t you have a holiday from talking?”

So I kept my bikini top on, begrudgingly. But as the holiday went on, I couldn’t help but feel that, by covering up, I was doing women a terrible disservice. If I refuse to take my bikini top off, on the grounds that I am too old and too droopy and nobody wants to see my boobs, aren’t I unwittingly perpetuating the notion that women’s bodies should only be seen if they are aesthetically pleasing, and appealing to members of the opposite sex?

It’s all well and good sunbathing topless when you are 30 and perky, but isn’t it more of a feminist statement to do it when you are in your 40s and 50s and 60s and 70s and – judging by some of the women on the beach that day – 80s?

It’s not as if women sunbathe topless to be sexy anyway. We do it to be free. Going topless is a holiday in itself, from underwired bras. From worrying about necklines and strap lines and having to be bouncy and uplifted. Because let me tell you this, as a woman with a larger chest: it is exhausting having breasts. Back-breaking, unwieldy, cumbersome, and bloody expensive when a decently upholstered bra can set you back £50 or more. What a relief it was to see all these women wandering around on the beach, bra-free and not giving two hoots what anybody thought of them, because what anybody thinks of them says far more about the person doing the thinking than it does about the person doing the topless sunbathing.

It was a joy to see so many uninhibited women let it all hang out. They didn’t care how they looked, because they were on the beach, and on the beach your only job is to relax. And eat ice cream, obviously. By day three, I had taken to sunbathing topless around the villa pool, and by day five, I had removed my bikini top on a public beach. Out came the nipples, out came the stretch marks, out came these silly bits of flesh that I’m sick of being sexualised.

“Come out and get some sun,” I said to my breasts.

“You’re so mortifying,” said my daughter.

“I’m no more mortifying than any of the other women on this beach,” I replied, proudly slathering sun cream over my boobs. “And there’s no way I’m going to be embarrassed about this body that gave you life, darling.”

“Mum, I don’t think you’re embarrassing because you’ve got your boobs out,” said my daughter, shaking her head. “I think you’re embarrassing because you’re talking to them.”

She tutted, and went back to her copy of Harry Potter. I sighed, and wondered why we hadn’t just gone to see the Roman ruins instead.