Craving a ‘beach-ready body’ is the surest way to self-loathing, but I still want one

At this time of year, many find themselves wracked with insecurity over the shape and size of their bodies. For Charlotte Cripps, a last-minute invitation to a swimming pool playdate threw her into a tailspin about body image and insecurity

‘The invitation from my friend arrived at short notice. For him, it’s just a playdate. For me, it’s my world turned upside down’ (iStock/The Independent)

It’s scorching hot. The phone rings. I’ve been invited to an exclusive members-only club in west London with an outdoor pool by my single dad friend. “Bring the kids,” he says jovially, “it’s my treat!” While most people in this weather might leap out of the front door ecstatically with their suntan lotion at the ready, my immediate reaction is terror. “I’m not summer ready,” I say to myself. “Do I have bingo wings?”

I wish I could be more like Zulma Melecio, a TikTok influencer from Texas who this week went viral for proudly posing in a two-piece swimsuit – despite claiming that her body isn’t “summer ready”. Social media users have praised her for her message of body positivity. Yet, I still feel under pressure to look perfect. Am I alone in being paranoid about the concept of being “beach-body ready”? Since I’ve had two kids, my body needs a lot of work to keep it toned. The closest I get to any exercise is walking my dog. I don’t have time for pedicures or pilates.

I’m not even sure what dreaded terms like “summer ready” or “beach-body ready” really mean anymore, and whether these days it would involve me having “mummy makeover” surgeries for my post-pregnancy aesthetic concerns. Breast implants? Liposuction? Laser treatments on my stomach where I had a C-section? The invitation from my friend arrived at short notice. For him, it’s just a playdate. For me, it’s my world turned upside down. It’s fine in the winter when we hurtle around the local park playing hide-and-seek with our children in thick coats – but now he’s asking me to go swimming? Will he judge me for not having a shredded physique? Is my body a reflection of my self-worth?

Phrases like “summer ready” carry harmful connotations – and triggers body shaming. We are all beach-body ready, whatever our body type. I’m not saying let it all hang out, but to at least ignore the concept of what constitutes the “correct” summer body, because it’s a trap that fuels self-hatred. For me, it was a case of “compare and despair”. I’m grieving my old self; the person who effortlessly walked along sandy beaches in bikinis before I had my children – someone slim and golden tanned. I went to the gym, did swimming and ate salads. Now it’s so different. I’m older. I barely have time to see my friends. I’m ferrying my daughters, four and six, to school and birthday parties. I’m teaching them to read as I make them pack lunches in the mornings, and all before I start work. I get tired and stressed so I eat their sugary treats – the other night it was four chocolate rolls.

After I had my second child in 2018, I had a brief clean-eating spree and embarked on a high-intensity workout routine. But then I quit. I’ve also been going on holiday with my kids and my elderly father since my partner died a few years ago, so it never felt like it mattered if I didn’t look like a Victoria’s Secret model. But now, as I drive into the main gates of the private club to check in for the pool, I’m under the illusion I should look like Candice Swanepoel. Is it because I believe that I’m only good enough and loveable if I’m thin and perfect?

I’ve had a complicated relationship with being summer ready. I was never anorexic, but in my twenties I dabbled with eating disorders – I controlled my weight by not eating much, and I went through periods of bulimia and using substances that kept me thin. I also remember my awareness of my own weight beginning far earlier: when I was 13, I began worrying about it and making plans to jog around Richmond Park and to only eat Marmite and Ryvita. It never worked. I was never overweight – just not Barbie thin. I didn’t know then that I had an addictive personality, or that I wanted to change how I felt because I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I had no idea that one day – and specifically in my late twenties – I would have to confront all of these issues, give up substances and practice self-care by eating three meals a day. Before that, all I knew was that if I was thin, I felt in control and therefore loveable. Kate Moss’s infamous motto that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” became mine, too.

It never felt like it mattered if I didn’t look like a Victoria’s Secret model. But now, as I drive into the main gates of the private club to check in for the pool, I’m under the illusion I should look like Candice Swanepoel

I never went to Overeaters Anonymous, where people seek help for all types of eating disorders. But I worked on myself in other recovery support groups by letting go of perfectionism and learning to love myself. I’d spent a decade believing that things outside of myself could fix me – including love affairs. So, after more than 20 years of sobriety, I thought I had a healthy degree of self-acceptance. But there I was, about to hide myself at a swimming pool.

After receiving my friend’s invitation with less than a day’s notice, I have a total freak out. I know that picking up the dumbbells and doing bicep curls isn’t going to make or break my situation. No amount of walking lunges, pulsing squats, and power pushes are going to give me the slim and toned physique that I think I need. It’s too late to get on a programme and eat protein with every meal, or stop snacking altogether, or join SoulCycle. So, how do I deal with it? I have to admit: not well.

Poolside, I remain fully dressed and pretend to work on my laptop, even though it’s a Sunday. I’ve stuck my four-year-old in a life jacket that I found in an old suitcase so I won’t have to jump in and pull her out if the situation arises. But when another child throws up in the pool and the kids are hoisted out, I’m relieved I’m not involved in the clean-up.

‘There were no awkward questions. No funny looks. But it all left me wondering whether my behaviour was extreme’ (iStock)

Nobody even asks me why I’m not dressed for swimming – admittedly I looked breezy in a sweeping-the-floor purple skirt as I sipped an iced cold drink. But I couldn’t believe I’d gotten away with it. There were no awkward questions. No funny looks. I didn’t feel self-conscious at all because I may as well have been wearing a full-body wetsuit. But it all left me wondering whether my behaviour was extreme.

In the end, I’ve resolved to hit the gym to get healthier – reckoning that regularly working out again is bound to make me feel better about myself. But I’m going into it knowing that the archetypal beach-ready body is an unrealisable dream. And that next time, I’m determined to be the first one at the party to jump into that swimming pool.