Chapter 1: The Bathing Suit Conundrum

In France, swimming attire often comes with strict regulations. At a local pool, I encountered a sign that vividly illustrated this rule. It depicted two figures: one in typical swimming trunks and the other in what appeared to be underwear. The first figure had a big red X through his midsection, while the latter did not. A wave of disbelief washed over me as I held my girlfriend's hand tightly.

“No!” I protested.

“Oui! Oui!” the attendant replied insistently. “For health reasons.”

“You mean—”

“Yes. It’s mandatory. You cannot wear your American swimsuit here. You must don the maillot de bain sportif.”

Essentially, this translates to a “sporty bathing suit”—or more colloquially, a Speedo.

I had tried to adapt to the French way of life, tolerating the occasional “bof!” and mastering the breathy Parisian pronunciation of “oui.” When a local I hired refused my request by saying, “I will not do what you ask because it is not part of my mission,” I merely smiled. However, the Speedo requirement was my personal line in the sand. No amount of “health reasoning” would convince me to wear a Lycra second skin in public.

The French, it seemed, were less concerned about germs and more about allure. One surefire method to be perceived as attractive in France was to don a uniform.

I called up a fellow expatriate, eager to share my indignation about this Speedo law and its ludicrous justification. To my surprise, after a decade of indulgence on the Left Bank, my friend had become a staunch supporter of what the French call a moule-bite—literally translated, a “cock cast.”

“Listen,” he said with exaggerated French flair, “an American swimsuit is essentially just shorts. A person could wear them anywhere—on a filthy bus or a park bench—and then jump into the pool teeming with germs!”

Germs? Bof! The more I pondered it, the clearer it became: the French were not worried about germs. Instead, they prioritized sexiness. The Speedo requirement was, in fact, a means to enforce this idea. It satisfied the French obsession with uniforms while simultaneously promoting an image of attractiveness. The Speedo had effectively become the official sexy outfit of the swimming pool.

As for me, I resisted this cultural imposition.

Despite months of protest, pool policies remained unchanged. Meanwhile, my girlfriend, who typically denied any weight-related concerns, noted one day that my strategy of replacing morning workouts with pastries had led to a noticeable dimple below my right shoulder. Peering into the mirror, I was horrified to see a man resembling my father from 1979 staring back at me, his belly protruding over his underwear.

The next day, I purchased my own maillot. To my astonishment, I felt liberatingly unencumbered. I glided through the water faster than before. Over time, my aversion to French customs lessened as my physique transformed. Observing a local cheese maker leaving the pool, I thought, “He looks fantastic!” Achieving a good look in a Speedo requires effort, perhaps the “health reason” the attendant had alluded to.

With my back dimple gone, my time in Paris came to an end. As I prepared to leave, a taxi approached, stirring bittersweet emotions within me. I took one last glance at my drying Speedo on the balcony. Wearing such an outfit on Long Island would lead to many misconceptions, so I decided it best to leave it behind.

However, times change. There may come a day when America regrets its dismissal of certain French customs. The taxi horned, and below, the uniformed garbage men swept the streets. Secretly, I stuffed my Speedo into my suitcase, pondering when I would have the chance to wear it again.

Chapter 2: Cultural Reflections

The first video titled "Live For Bastille Day 2!!" captures the vibrant celebrations of Bastille Day, showcasing the spirit of France and its cultural significance.

The second video, "French National Day: Bastille Day parade meets Olympic torch relay," highlights the fusion of tradition and modernity during this iconic celebration.