The naked truth

Wear a bikini if you want to – life is too short to be scared of a little cellulite or a large muffin top

Bikinis have been very much on my mind all of last week. Not because it’s a furnace out there and the swimming pool has never looked more tempting. No, I’ve been thinking of bikinis because of something that my late, great heroine, Nora Ephron, wrote in her book, I Feel Bad About My Neck. Talking about the pains of ageing she wrote: “Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was 26. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don’t take it off until you’re 34.”

Now, I must confess that I’ve never ever worn a bikini: not at 16, not at 26, leave alone at 34. Partly, this is down to the fact that no matter how hard I tried – and I promise you, I did – I never did get the hang of that swimming thing. And partly, it is because I lacked the chutzpah to carry off wearing what is essentially underwear – except in nicer colours and styles – in front of a bunch of strangers as I lounged around the pool.

But now, as all the Ephron obituaries and tributes dutifully trot out her thoughts on bikinis (among other things: my favourite Ephron line is “Be the heroine of your life; not the victim”; and her bitchily pointing out that her second husband, Carl Bernstein, would even ‘make love to a Venetian blind’) I have begun to wonder if I did, in fact, leave it too late. You know what they say about youth being wasted on the young? Well, my youthful skinniness was certainly wasted on me...

Or wait, was it? Much as I would like to swear by all things Ephron, I have to concede that the zeitgeist on bikinis seems to have shifted since her book came out. When she wrote it, Ephron was 64, and the book had a gently elegiac quality about it, almost as if – in retrospect – it was foreshadowing her own death at 71.

But even as Ephron was writing sadly, if wittily, “If you’re fortunate enough to be in a sexual relationship, you’re not going to have the sex you once had. Plus, you can’t wear a bikini”, there were other women – her near contemporaries in age – who were all set to prove her wrong.

A mere two years later, across the Atlantic, the fabulous Helen Mirren was pictured in a bright red-bikini, frolicking in the sea with her husband, and looking like a million bucks. This was in 2008, when both Mirren and her husband were 63 years old. And yet, there they were, behaving like giddy, madly-in-love teenagers as they cavorted on the beach in Puglia with Mirren’s bikini body looking good enough to put any teenage girl to shame.

Since then, we have had our share of 40, 50 and 60-somethings lining up to show us that there are still some bikini years left in them. Whether it is the 44-year-old Carla Bruni, the 48-year-old Courtney Cox, the 56-year-old Jerry Hall or the 59-year-old Marie Helvin, they have all done their bit to prove that bikinis can look just as good on women of a certain age as they do on nubile young girls.

But then, these are women who look good for their age – hell, they look great for any age! What about the rest of us, who struggle to keep our muffin tops under control, who have borne children and have the scars to prove it, who have wobbly bits that no amount of lycra can keep under control?

What about the average woman like you and me? Should we dutifully set aside our bikinis at the magic age of 34 and slip into one-pieces (and oblivion)? Or should we throw off our inhibitions along with those much-despised one-pieces and put our mid-riffs boldly on display?

Well, I got my answer on a recent holiday in Italy when I ventured out into the hotel swimming pool. Every single woman in the pool area was wearing a bikini. Some of them were thin and toned. Others were overweight and out of shape. And then there were those who were, quite frankly, obese. And yet all of them sported their bikinis with such insouciance that I could only admire their self-confidence and their ease with their bodies.

Their breasts spilled out, their bellies flopped over, their bikini bottoms could barely contain their bums. But did they care? No, not a jot. They happily swam in the pool, went kayaking, sun-bathed, and even fetched up at the bar for a drink. I am ashamed to admit that I watched with a certain horrified fascination to begin with. And then, soon enough the novelty of all those lady bits on display wore off and I began to wonder what the fuss was about.

After all, if you are confident enough – and comfortable enough – to wear a bikini to the swimming pool, then why should you let any kind of body fascism stop you? As far as I am concerned when it comes to getting dressed – for the beach; the pool; the office; or a party – there is only one rule that matters. And that is: There are no rules.

That said, much as I admire these women, I have to admit that I won’t be wearing a bikini any time soon – not unless there is a tropical villa with a private pool involved. And even then – call me craven if you will – I’m going to keep that sarong well within reach.

Married to the job

America may obsess about its First Lady but in India, we simply don’t care about political spouses

Last week I devoured the controversial new book, The Obamas, by New York Times correspondent Jodi Kantor, in one greedy gulp. But even at the half-way mark I could understand why the book had so upset the White House. The story may ostensibly be about the Obamas as a couple and the dynamics of their relationship but its focus is undoubtedly the First Lady – her resistance to her husband’s joining politics; her difficulties in adjusting to life in the White House; her extravagance; her stormy relationship with her husband’s staffers; her struggle to find a meaningful role for herself other than that of First Mum; and so on.

But what intrigued me was not so much that Kantor had spun a book – and a very readable one at that – out of meeting the Obamas for about half an hour several years ago (as the White House bitterly pointed out). What really leapt out at me as I raced through the chapters is how important spouses are in American politics.

They may not be running for office themselves but political wives are subjected to much the same media scrutiny as their husbands. Their every move is analysed, every statement mined for sub-text, and every wardrobe choice picked over. Whatever the merits of the men, they inevitably end up being judged by the women they married – and if they managed to stay married to them. And wives can often make or break a political career.

Remember how Hillary Clinton was pilloried for making dismissive remarks about stay-at-home moms who baked cookies when her husband was running for President? Such was the backlash that she had to turn up on a television show with some home-baked cookies she had rustled up herself to prove that she – a high-flying lawyer – was a regular mom like any other. When the ‘bimbo eruptions’ hit Bill Clinton’s first presidential campaign, it was Hillary who gave a joint interview with her husband to shore up his image. And again, when the Monica Lewinsky story hit the headlines, it was Hillary who came up with the infamous phrase, ‘a giant right-wing conspiracy’ to defend her beleaguered husband.

Yes, wives have the power to shore up their husbands’ political careers if they so choose. President George W. Bush’s image as a warmonger was softened by the gentle presence of his wife, Laura, the school-teacher turned librarian, who spent all her time doing good works and reading to children. And more recently, when Barack Obama’s ratings plummeted to abysmal levels, his wife’s soaring popularity helped to even the score a bit.

Now, as the scrimmage over the Republican nomination for the next US Presidential election continues, political wives merit more coverage than ever. Mitt Romney scores by the simple expedient of staying married to his high-school sweetheart, Ann, with whom he has five strapping sons. Newt Gingrich hasn’t been so lucky. Last week, Maureen Dowd devoted her entire New York Times column to eviscerating Gingrich’s current wife, Callista. Describing the third Mrs Gingrich as a ‘tranformational wife’ who wants her husband to go out there and conquer the world, Dowd wrote, “Draped in Tiffany diamonds, Callista is the embodiment of the divide between Gingrich’s public piety and private immorality.” Ouch!

This American-style spotlight on political wives has now even spread across the Atlantic, with the wives of British Prime Ministers playing a more visible public role. Nobody either heard or saw Norma Major when her husband was Prime Minister. But you couldn’t possibly say that about Cherie Blair now, could you? Even the more low-profile Sarah Brown was pulled out at the Labour Party conference to introduce her husband Gordon to the delegates in a speech aimed at ‘humanising’ him.

Now Samantha Cameron is a visible presence on the British political scene, supporting her husband at political events, flying the flag for British fashion, or hosting a gaggle of political spouses on the sidelines of major conferences. On the Continent, it is Carla Bruni who is flying the flag for the political wife, making joint appearances with her husband, Nicolas Sarkozy, to give his image a much-needed dose of glamour.

Thankfully, we in India are still holding out against this trend of making political spouses part of the political narrative. The only time we see Gursharan Kaur, wife of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, in the papers is when she accompanies her husband on some foreign trip. Otherwise, she stays very much in the shadows, preserving her privacy behind the ramparts of Race Course Road.

Of the putative Prime Ministerial candidates on offer, Rahul Gandhi does not have a spouse (though it’s probably fair to say that she would get a fair amount of media attention if she did, in fact, exist). But even among the BJP’s Prime Ministerial candidates, it is hard to put a face on the spouses of any of them. It has been rumoured that Narendra Modi has a wife, but I can’t seem to recall a single picture of her being published in the media. And I doubt that most people could identify Arun Jaitley’s wife or Sushma Swaraj’s husband if their lives depended on it.

No, in India, political spouses are just not part of the political discourse. We don’t care what they think about the political issues of the day; what they do to earn a living; or even, what they wear. And long may it stay that way.

Men in heels
Yes, seriously – that seems to be the new fashion trend

Only a few months ago I had blithely announced in this column that women were the only suckers for high heels, mincing around in vertiginous stilettos and clunky wedges. There was a reason, I said, why the only shoes that men ever made a fetish about were trainers – comfortable, lightweight and made for speed. And any designer who tried to sell them the kind of punishing high heels that women wear on a daily basis would be laughed out of the business.

Well, now I stand (in my own two-inch kitten heels, which are thankfully back in fashion) corrected. Apparently, the latest trend in men’s fashion is high heels. Of course, these are not the kind of high heels that any woman would deign to recognise. Stacked just a few inches high and designed to hide beneath the fall of a well-cut trouser, these are styled for discretion rather than valour. These are not flashy heels meant to catch your eyes; they are meant to be near-invisible, granting a tactful (and tactical) advantage of a couple of inches to its wearer.

Personally, I blame Nicolas Sarkozy. The French President is disconcertingly self-conscious about being only 5 feet 5 inches (which makes him an inch shorter than that other famous French short man, Napoleon Bonaparte). And the acquisition of a glamorous supermodel wife in Carla Bruni, who is a full five inches taller than him, has made matters worse. Not only is the willowy Bruni banned from wearing heels while appearing alongside her husband (though I am sure there are worse fates than living your life in Dior ballet pumps) but Sarkozy himself gets his shoes custom-made to add a discreet heel to each pair.

But perhaps, I shouldn’t be too harsh about poor little Nicolas. It can’t be easy being the only world leader who has to stand on a bench while addressing the media alongside Barack Obama so that his head does not disappear behind the lectern. Or to have the British Chancellor George Osborne remove a stool from behind a podium, referring to it disparagingly as the Sarkozy box. Or even to cope with reports that the British Prime Minister joked about ‘hidden dwarves’ while referring to a photograph of himself and Sarkozy.

If you think about it, it is probably daily humiliations like these that lead to the small man syndrome, where short men try to over-compensate by being more aggressive and truculent. That’s probably why Napoleon felt compelled to conquer the world (well, okay, Europe) and why Sarkozy himself loses his temper so spectacularly so often (or why he surrounds himself with short people while on stage, so that he appears taller by comparison).

But whatever you might think about Nicolas and his obsession with appearing just a few inches taller, you have got to give him credit for one thing: making it okay for men to wear high heels. Until now, high heels for men were the stuff of drag-queen dressing, being restricted to distinctly campy circles. They were famously worn by the likes of Karl Lagerfeld, which says it all really. Or they featured in the menswear collections of such glam-rock designers like Gareth Pugh.

But now high heels for men have gone mainstream. Status heels, in which a heel of 1 and 1/4 inch is visible to the eye while another 1 and ½ inch of heel is hidden within the shoe, are now worn by short men across the globe without a hint of embarrassment.

I am pretty sure that these ‘status heels’ have also been pressed into duty in the wardrobes of such Indian actors as Salman Khan and Aamir Khan, who could do with a boost in the height department. After all, if Tom Cruise can work a stacked heel on the red carpet, alongside his statuesque wife, Katie Holmes, why should our stars be caught out short? (Okay, bad pun, I know.)

We all know the stunts that male stars pull to ensure that they don’t look shorter than their female co-stars in the movies and at public events like premieres. They stand a couple of steps above on a staircase so that they tower above the taller ladies. While shooting in long shot, they make the women walk alongside in a little trench so that they appear taller in comparison. They stand on a bench while filming close-ups so that they gain a few inches.

And now, like Nicolas Sarkozy, they can wear high heels as well.

But it’s not just stars and celebrities who seem gladdened by the arrival of high heels for men. Most of the men of my acquaintance are quite taken by the idea of gaining a couple of inches as well. They can now stand taller beside their wives/girlfriends, they can look their boss in the eye, they can look down on their children like the superior beings they undoubtedly are. And everyone will look at them differently too.

Well, at least that’s how the theory goes. All research into the subject suggests that taller men do better in life than their shorter counterparts. They get better jobs, are promoted more often, make more money, marry better looking women, have more children, are better respected in society.

And if high heels can help them achieve all this, then how could you possibly grudge them a pair of ‘status heels’ to add to their status?