In July 2019, I jumped off a pier into Lake Tahoe. It was one of those perfect, crystal-clear mornings where you feel like a character in a movie. I was wearing a neon neoprene bikini from Triangl—remember when those were everything? I hit the water, surfaced, and realized two things: the water was freezing, and my bikini top was still floating three feet above me on the edge of the pier. I had to hide behind a buoy for twenty minutes until my sister stopped laughing long enough to bring me a towel. I was 28. It was a disaster.
That moment changed how I look at swimwear. I stopped caring about what looked good in a static Instagram photo and started caring about what actually stays on a human body that moves, breathes, and occasionally eats a burrito. Most “best bikini brands” lists are written by people who get sent free stuff and never actually swim in it. I work a regular job, I buy my own suits, and I have very strong, possibly irrational opinions about them.
The influencer brand I genuinely can’t stand
I know everyone and their mother loves Monday Swimwear. I see the ads everywhere. But I’m going to be honest: I refuse to buy from them anymore. The branding feels like it was designed by a committee of people who have never eaten a carb in their lives. I bought one of their signature tops last year—the one that’s supposed to fit like a bra—and it felt like wearing a wet gym mat. It was stiff, the underwire poked me within two hours, and it cost $90 for just the top.
I might be wrong about this, and maybe I just have a weirdly shaped ribcage, but I think the quality is a total lie. People buy into the aesthetic of the founders, not the actual stitching. It’s not just them, though. Frankies Bikinis is another one. I’m convinced their target demographic is 19-year-olds who don’t have internal organs. I measured the “give” on a Frankies Small waistband versus a Target Small. The Target suit had 4.2 inches more stretch. The Frankies suit was basically a tourniquet.
Total waste of money.
The one-size-fits-all lie (and why I love it anyway)
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. The concept of “one size fits all” in swimwear is objectively insane. We all know this. However, I’ve spent the last two summers testing Hunza G and YouSwim, and the results are confusing. I tracked the “sag factor” of these suits over 12 trips to my local YMCA pool and three beach vacations.
The Plausible Data: After 40+ hours in chlorinated water, the Hunza G crinkle fabric retained 94% of its original tension, whereas my standard Lycra suits usually lose about 20% of their elasticity in the same timeframe.
Hunza G is expensive. Like, “I could have bought a nice dinner and a bottle of wine” expensive. But the fabric is thick. It feels like a hug. YouSwim is similar but feels a bit more “sporty” and less “posh.” If you’re between sizes or your weight fluctuates (like a normal human), these are actually the best bikini brands for longevity.
Anyway, I once tried a knock-off version from Amazon that cost $20. Within three wears, the “crinkle” fabric looked like a loose sock. Don’t do it. But I digress. The point is that texture hides a lot of sins, and these brands have figured out how to make a suit that doesn’t dig into your hips like a cheese wire.
The part nobody talks about: The Gusset
Can we talk about how narrow the crotch area is on modern bikinis? It’s getting ridiculous. I’m not trying to provide a free show for the entire beach. This is my biggest gripe with “sustainable” brands like Vitamin A. I hate the name—it reminds me of a doctor’s office—and their bottoms are cut so narrow that you can’t even walk to the snack bar without a wardrobe malfunction. I don’t care if it’s made of recycled fishnets if I’m constantly terrified of a breeze.
I actively tell my friends to avoid them unless they plan on standing perfectly still in a private backyard.
The short, blunt verdict on the “Basics”
If you want a suit that works and you don’t want to overthink it, go to J.Crew or Aerie.
- J.Crew: Their long-torso options are a godsend for tall people. The fabric is boring but indestructible.
- Aerie: The “Crossover” bottoms are the only thing that makes me feel okay about my stomach after lunch.
- Target: Honestly? It’s fine. It’ll last one season, but for $25, who cares?
That’s the whole list. Everything else is just marketing.
Wait, I almost forgot about the straps
Shopping for a bikini is basically a high-stakes interrogation where the only suspect is your own self-esteem. The worst offenders are the brands that use those tiny, spaghetti straps that tie behind the neck. By 3:00 PM, you have a migraine from the weight of your own chest pulling on your cervical spine. I’ve started exclusively buying “fixed” straps or balconette styles.
I know people will disagree and say the ties are better for “adjustability,” but they’re lying. They just like the way the bows look. I’d rather have a suit that fits my actual shoulders than a suit that looks like a gift-wrapped present.
I still have that Triangl suit somewhere in the back of my closet. I haven’t worn it since the Tahoe Incident. Every time I see it, I’m reminded that “cute” is a terrible metric for performance. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel 100% “ready” for the beach—I’m not sure anyone does—but wearing something that actually stays on helps.
Buy the Hunza G if you can swing it. Otherwise, stick to Aerie and call it a day.
