In Defense of Bodysuits
an essay by Felicity Sargent
When someone says “bodysuit” my mind instantly conjures a ’90s power woman—short hair, long limbs—flicking through a meticulously merchandized closet filled with “the perfects.” You know—the perfect jeans, the perfect trench, the perfect button-down, the perfect loafers…and hanging above all that perfection, a selection of what may be the actual antithesis of imperfection: Endless. Perfect. Bodysuits.
It’s almost as if you can hear these streamlined silhouettes simultaneously whisper and scream “I’ve got my life together.”
And that’s when this perfect bodysuit daydream begets a barrage of my compulsive questions: Are those things officially called “crotch snaps”? What’s the pitting-out potential? What size do I get? Is bodysuit one word or two? Will I have underwear lines? Are underwear lines cool? Is there enough stretch to be comfy?
To which the bodysuits should retort (in their signature whisper-scream): “Don’t paint us with that boring brush!” And they’re right—bodysuits shouldn’t be considered an indulgence for only the most put-together of souls.
In fact, I find that bodysuits rightly befit the most cluttered of closets, the most daring dressers and the most millennial minds. They can dress down a statement trouser, polish up a pair of old jeans and save the day for your semi-sheer shirt.
When you really think about it, a bodysuit is a bit of a blank canvas—a base layer upon which to build your look—and in my book, that’s pretty darn “perfect.”
See? Bodysuits aren’t so scary. Felicity’s pictured wearing this one above. Find your own “perfect” fit here.
Felicity Sargent is a writer, stylist and digital voice coach who splits her time between New York City and Vermont.