Beach Body Standards? No Grazie

In today’s media landscape, coming across an article that mentions ‘beauty standards’ can only evoke a certain level of dread. A keen eye might scan for the perceptible differences between shame-laced ‘women’s weekly’ columns and a righteous feminist critique condemning the ever-changing blueprint for female desirability. Even if articles seem to reject these standards outright, their very existence – framed, dissected, dismantled – reinforces a haunting truth: they’re still here. They may shapeshift with time, but as the world becomes familiar with them, their weight feels undeniable. Nowadays, the only choice is to shut the door on the storm – or to walk head-on through it, knowing you won’t make it out unscathed. It feels as if no matter where you go, you can’t escape it.

The ironic branding of the ‘escapism’ of a beach getaway, then, isn’t lost. Once upon a time, the idea of soaking up the sun in barely-there clothing felt exciting – daring. You could saunter in the latest polka-dot one-piece or shimmy into a cover-up and feel fashionable, sophisticated, sexy. Now, the thought of shedding the towel, of walking towards the waves on a crowded beach, can feel more like a performance than a pleasure. You become aware of your body, your clothes, not as a vessel of joy but as a marker of spectacle. An invitation to be watched. Judged. Picked apart. Such ‘standards’ root themselves so deeply within our own self-image that even in the quiet of social media cleanses and phone detoxes, something remains stuck to our minds. Not silence, but static.

At least, that’s what we have been led to believe.

In truth, these expectations do not exist everywhere. They’re not stitched into the sand. They aren’t carried in the breeze off the sea. They exist in airless pockets, held together by algorithms and advertising, inflated by curated feeds and cultural noise. But beyond them, in the calm of their absence, something ancient and true remains. Something nestled into turquoise ocean waters and white sands, warm and inviting in the Mediterranean.

There, beauty is not punishment. It’s not a shape to mould yourself into or a trend to chase. It’s an embodiment of vitality. From the beginnings of the Greek literary tradition to contemporary island life, beauty is tied to life force – rosy cheeks, loud laughter, skin bronzed by the sun and nourished by olive oil and sea air. A round face, soft curves, a full belly after a long lunch – signs of a life well lived, not flaws to be corrected.

Even amid classical aesthetics that celebrated symmetry and proportion, something more than that rises above: a woman’s presence. A woman was beautiful because she was alive – curious, expressive, radiant. Her mouth was praised not for its pout but for its speech; her eyes, not for their size, but for how they absorbed the world. The ancient Mediterranean ideal was not about restriction but balance. Not thinness, but fullness – in appetite, in laughter, in spirit.

The thought alone is liberating. But it feels almost impossible to hope that by the time your plane lands in this new, warm world, all your inhibitions and conditioning will have been shed. Our phones, our comparisons, our inner critics – they come with us. Distance alone is not enough to forget everything we think we know.

Unless it absolutely is.

You don’t have to wait until the plane lands to let them go. You don’t need distance – you need permission. And what beauty in the Mediterranean means is this: you are allowed to exist fully in your body, exactly as it is. No. Matter. What. You are allowed to wear the swimsuit, feel the sun, and not apologise for the space you take up. You are allowed to be seen, not as an object, but as a person experiencing joy. Because that, in its purest, most authentic form, is beauty.

On the white sands of Spain or in the gardens of Italia, stretch out in the knowledge that beauty – real beauty – is in the sensation of salt on skin, of laughter echoing over the water, of feeling warm and free. Of returning home to your body as something to live in, not to fix.

Social media and all that it demands from the female body will not disappear. The towers of expectation don’t crumble overnight. But out there – under the sun, floating in the sea – you can start to feel something different. A softness. Kindness. A change not in how you look, but in how you see. A change that means when your feet land back wherever you call home, you feel vitality, joy, and expression as beauty too. Because you? You’re allowed to feel good in your skin – especially at the beach.

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This is a painting of Thaumetra:

Look at how well depicted are

her joyous spirit and gentle-eyed expression.

A guard dog puppy would wag her tail at the sight

Thinking her lady was still at home.

- Nossis