I’ve had the same bathing suit since I was a teenager. In true, slow-fashion style, it has stood the test of time — reused and re-worn for decades, while other suits frayed and decayed in its shadow.
The summers were always too short in my Western Pennsylvania hometown. The rains that start in early spring turn into routine thunderstorms that interrupt those gloriously long, sunny summer afternoons. It always felt like summer was gone before it ever properly started, which made every moment feel so much more precious, essential. Perhaps it’s partly because I found the winters so grueling that I couldn’t get enough of that scorching sun despite the longer days of summer. I remember trying to soak up all of that summer heat to protect myself from the cold weather just a few months away — as if I had some kind of internal space heater that would keep me warm on demand come Christmastime. I’ll still take a blistering sunburn over frozen toes any day, never mind the wrinkles and melanoma risk.
Summer always felt like a special event, spread out across those lazy, bird-song-filled mornings in the yard, the late evening sunsets that led to later bedtimes, and, of course, those glorious days lounging poolside. Summer was its own kind of feeling, and I did everything I could to hold onto every second of those fleeting days, wrapping myself in the sticky, humid, Midwestern heat I loved so much. That also meant wardrobe choices were essential; wearing next to nothing always felt as if it was the truest expression of myself — much more so than the heavy, itchy winter essentials that kept me buried under layers. As an introvert, summer clothing also helped me peel back some of the physical barriers that are easier to hide behind (like a jacket zipped up over my nose). The nakedness of summer forced me to find comfort in the discomfort of my exposed, gangly legs and knock knees, letting the visible bruises, scrapes, and bug bites of a summer well-lived be easy conversation starters.
I found myself thinking about one summer bathing suit in particular after supermodel Naomi Campbell hit the red carpet in Cannes last year wearing a Chanel dress she first wore nearly 30 years ago. “What a look to open the 2024 Cannes Film Festival,” Eléna Pougin wrote in Vogue. Campbell made her grand entrance on the red carpet in a look that “certainly didn’t go unnoticed,” she wrote. “[I]t was not just any dress: Naomi Campbell opted for the one that she had worn almost 30 years previously, at the Chanel Fall/Winter 1996-97 haute couture show.”
While, couture Chanel it is not, one spring day more than thirty years ago, I came home with a new two-piece bathing suit I assumed would inevitably need to be replaced in a few years. But that same suit is still in my drawer, soon to see yet another summer rotation (or a Cannes red carpet, I’m open). I call her “Old Red”. The label says Athena (there appear to be a few labels that use that name today), and the suit is a deep maroon color, ribbed, with a crop-style bikini top and traditional bikini bottoms.
Not too many pieces of clothing from my youth have lasted into midlife. I still have one Bob Dylan concert t-shirt that precedes the bathing suit by a few years — it’s so thin now I’m afraid it will dissolve if I get it wet. But everything else eventually met its fate either in a thrift store donation pile, lost somewhere, or, too worn for wear and sent to a landfill. (Maybe turned into rags for a few years before that.)
Even though I now live where the weather resembles my childhood summers year-round and I have my very own pool that I can dive into whenever I choose, bathing suits still don’t get nearly as much rotation as other items, like my favorite covid-era pair of sweatpants (still going!). But, three decades? Is that a record? Couture dresses like Campbell’s, certainly; those hand-knitted scarves and sweaters gifted from a grandparent that we all have in the back of our closets, even tattered old bowling shirts — they routinely stand the test of time.
But a bathing suit?
I’ve purchased numerous bathing suits for my daughter over the last decade, and most lose elasticity and begin to fray before the summer’s even over. I’ve purchased and then trashed numerous suits for myself over the decades — not because of style or fit — but because the materials just gave way. And it’s the materials, especially the elastic, that may be the reason Old Red has lasted so long.
“Swimsuits are super tricky since they require some sort of stretchy fabric and that entails plastic,” Diana Tsui, creative consultant and stylist, told CNN. Elastic, which is found in most swimwear, degrades for numerous reasons: heat, moisture, chemicals, and overuse all play a part in the lifespan of elastic. Elastic is typically made from a combination of rubber or latex and other fibers like cotton, polyester, or nylon (plastic). The type and quality of these materials significantly affect the elastic’s durability and longevity. Three decades ago, when I found my bathing suit, fast fashion didn’t exist the way that it does today. I don’t remember what the suit cost, but it wouldn’t be more than $100 in today’s market. It was, like most clothing back then, just made better from better quality materials, without being overpriced.
It’s important to drive the industry toward the reuse of fiber within the garment supply chain, as well as keeping everything out of landfill and participating in a truly circular fashion system.
-SuperCircle CEO and co-founder Chloe Songer
Today, a growing roster of clothing labels prioritizes better materials in the hopes of garments lasting longer. And with numerous manufacturers turning plastic waste into fiber, sustainable swimwear is becoming more accessible than ever. Leading athletic wear labels like Nike and Speedo have launched collections made from recycled nylon and other eco materials. J Crew announced its first foray into sustainable swimwear last year in collaboration with SuperCircle. There are also smaller labels, like Vitamin A, Wolven, and Andie, advancing the category. The sector could see even more labels diving in as sustainable alternatives to Spandex (elastane) become more readily available. Allied Market Research projects the sustainable swimwear market will more than double to $16 billion by 2032 with U.S. labels leading the way.
J Crew isn’t using upcycled plastic bottles or fishing nets, as is common with a number of labels, but is instead using a unique fiber-to-fiber recycling effort that could keep more textiles out of landfills. While we’ve donated or sold many garments, especially my daughter’s items she grew out of, swimwear is often too damaged to pass on. The elastic gives out or the Spandex loses its stretch and sags. According to State of Matter Apparel, more than 11 million tons of textile waste go to landfills in the U.S. every year; that’s more than 80 pounds of textile waste per person.
“The end goal of circularity is to drive fiber recapture that can be used in new garments. Fiber-to-fiber recycling makes that a reality today,” SuperCircle CEO and co-founder Chloe Songer told Vogue Business. “It’s important to drive the industry toward the reuse of fiber within the garment supply chain, as well as keeping everything out of landfill and participating in a truly circular fashion system. The textile recycling value chain could create new, valuable raw materials that enable more apparel production, with less impact and waste.”
Given how long Old Red has made it, she deserves a better ending than spending eternity in a landfill. How fun to think about her being turned into another suit that lasts another three decades — or longer. Not every swimsuit will last as long as mine has. But, maybe more can avoid the landfill and be turned into new swimsuits. This new era of swimwear manufacturers may be up for the challenge. Recycled nylon is very durable. It’s a material that’s lightweight, elastic, and naturally resistant to heat, chemicals, and wear and tear.
With commitments to sustainability, labels like Reformation, Boden, and Londre are more likely to favor durable design elements, higher-quality materials, and better manufacturing processes. All of this could mean a user getting more wear out of a new bathing suit, more resale market opportunities when the size or style no longer fits, and more recycling options when it truly is at the end of its life.
A few years ago, on an early summer morning, I pulled Old Red out and noticed the back clasp had broken. I gasped and held my breath for a moment. Had we finally come to the end of the road? I had more feelings than I probably should have. But I couldn’t imagine a summer without that suit and its connection to so many summers before it. But then I remembered the other slow-fashion rule that comes along with reducing and reusing: repair. I found a nearby tailor, and a few days later, with a sturdy new clasp in place, Old Red and I were poolside again. Just like the good old days.
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