No ifs, these butts are just glorious

Stepping on to Copacabana beach, I felt oddly self-conscious. I was wearing a bikini, one brought from home. But compared to the bum cheek on display all around me, I had on a pair of granny panties.

Big and small, wrinkled, dimply or tanned, Brazilian women flaunted their butts. Coming from a culture where, at the time, even wearing the tamest of bikinis on the beach with friends felt scandalous, it was confrontational.

By the time we got to Ilha Grande, I’d invested in a thong. The Brazilian coast experienced the full force of my solar power. Two full moons became slightly tawnier by the end of our holiday, but more than that, the feeling of showing that much skin and not worrying about what anyone thought – or catching any judgemental glances – was freedom. I vowed to be more accepting of my body, and less tied up in societal expectations to cover it up.

Back in New Zealand, I wore the bikini exactly once, on a beach north of Wellington. It felt weird. Eyeballs grew towards me on stalks. It was retired to the back of my drawer.

In school changing rooms in the ‘90s, after a certain age girls learned to cover up when they changed. After emerging from the pool, it was a complicated tussle with towel, togs and undies, a well-calibrated feat to get semi-dry and dressed while keeping breasts and vulva under lock. I don’t know what we thought would happen if all was revealed. A ritual shaming, maybe? Burnt at the stake? Or even worse… looked at?

Even playing rugby at uni, only a couple of girls got fully naked in communal showers. The rest of us got soaked in our undies, and some wore T-shirts. Going to the beach and forgot your boardshorts?

Sorry, no swim for you.

In Japanese onsen, or hot pools, everyone gets naked. In parts of France and Italy, topless sunbathing is normal. Elsewhere, nakedness is embraced or at least not scoffed at, and in plenty of indigenous cultures it was conventional, before colonisation. Why, then, in a country like New Zealand, are women so used to policing their own bodies, even in the presence of other women?

All evidence points to three things: the buttoned-up impact of British colonists, who treated women as chattels, and whose bodies were therefore for their eyes only; the patriarchy, which has varied and sneaky ways of objectifying women and making them hate themselves and each other; and the media, including social media, which are weapons of mass misogyny when it comes to the creation of a ‘‘perfect’’ or ideal body shape and colour.

But this summer, I have been heartened. From the Coromandel to Mt Maunganui and Gisborne, I’ve seen more of women’s bodies than ever before in this country. String bikinis, highcut bikinis, cheeky bikinis, G-strings. There’s all kinds of butts out all over the beaches, and it’s glorious.

Some styles I wouldn’t be brave enough to wear, or foolish enough to try and tuck my muff into. But I admire those who do, and I like that it’s an option for those who want to.

What does all this mean for feminism? Are young women finally beginning to embrace their bodies, feeling OK about the world seeing them as they are? Is it just another trend, another whim of the male gaze, and next year we’ll be back in boardies?

I choose to think positively. Let’s call this freedom of expression, and a victory for feminism.

It is hard to unlearn years of self-criticism. A few years ago, I started taking my clothes off in the changing room at the gym or the pool without covering my body. It took all my willpower not to grab my towel when someone walked in. But I did it, and the world didn’t implode.

Before I left Whitianga this year, I bought a bikini that looked kinda like my Brazilian one from so many years ago. It’s already had a few outings, and gone nowhere near a drawer.

And that, for me, feels a bit like empowerment.