Old-time eroticism: When bikinis really mattered

BY KATHRYN WEXLER

Knight Ridder Newspapers
Those strategical swaths of fabric known as the bikini were once revolutionary because of what they didn't do: Didn't cover the navel, didn't hide the belly, didn't mask the swell of the breasts or the mounds of the derriere.

In 1946, Louis Reard, a French automotive engineer and son of a lingerie shop owner, introduced a racier version of the typical two-piece swimsuit that he called the "bikini," after Bikini Atoll lagoon in the Pacific Ocean, where the U.S. government was exploding the atomic bomb.

The swimsuit made its own waves, and Reard couldn't find a respectable model to wear his design. For the bikini's debut at a fashion show at a Parisian swimming pool, Reard was forced to hire a stripper from the Casino de Paris.

Sixty years later, it's hard to imagine a swimsuit that could raise a disapproving eyebrow. Those seaside bans on the bikini seem so quaintly provincial now.

The newly released "The Bikini Book" (Assouline, $29.99) brings back the bikini's seminal introduction in modern times and its sheer moxie in glorious color. Author Kelly Killoren Bensimon is a socialite and former model who has authored a couple other books on style and is now the editor of the newly launched Elle Accessories magazine.

She traces the origins of the bikini from wall paintings in 1400 BC through Roman times, with the photo of a fourth century mosaic depicting two female athletes clad in strapless bikinis that you might pick up this week at Bloomingdale's.

From there, "The Bikini Book" is a photograph-heavy, 400-page romp through the 20th century history of the much celebrated two-piece, from Hollywood pinups of the `50s whose navels were demurely covered to the rhinestone bikinis worn by oiled-down body builders. For the most part, it's a good ride, even if the book is light on text and analysis of the bikini's social, political and sexual reverberations.

In the beginning as we know it, there was Jayne Mansfield. Here she preens in leopard-print or striped bikinis, sucking in air to showcase her well noted 41-inch chest. Hollywood made the bikini the next big thing, with Bond girl Ursula Andress walking out of the ocean in a white bikini in 1962. "This bikini made me a success," Andress apparently said.

Half the fun of "The Bikini Book" is the pictorial voyeurism it allows. What was the big deal about Annette Funicello in those frumpy swim briefs anyway? I bet Brigitte Bardot couldn't stop traffic today. Did Raquel have a body on her, or what? Jackie Kennedy Onassis was never meant for the swimsuit after all. Angela Missoni wears her Missoni bikini like she's never worn anything else. And wow! - check out the buns on that nobody!

But as the bikini changes, so too the female figure. The stomach's soft rolls during the bikini's early years give way to six-pack abs. The small-chested become the saline-inserted. Famous legs get longer, bottoms tighter and rounder.

There's a contemporary photo of two adolescent girls in Los Angeles, wearing bikinis and looking at their reflections in a full-length mirror. Their lips are dewy with gloss, their bodies tanned and their hair highlighted. They are of average weight and they look mildly unhappy.

A half-century ago, simply baring skin was alluring. It didn't matter if your butt sagged a bit or your breasts were A-cups. But after so many years of trotting around half-naked, the bikini holds no power.

You sense this as you make your way through the book, sated with so much Lycra and so many curves, although the irony is lost on Bensimon.

Who cares about the bikini in the end? Eroticism is no longer a peek at this or the suggestion of that. It's come down to the bod itself - injected, marinated and buffed for your predilection.

http://www.fortwayne.com/mld/newssentinel/living/14431790.htm

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