Outsmarting the Maternity Swimwear Industrial Complex

I’m one of those rare assholes who loves being pregnant.

Both my pregnancies were blessedly healthy and smooth, sustained by an optimal balance of hormones that rendered me physically vital, emotionally stable, and creatively abundant. I got into trouble bragging about this when more than one friend asked if I’d consider being their surrogate and to be fair I did consider it but I digress…

One thing I did not love about being pregnant was maternity wear. Not the challenge of dressing a changing body, which felt sexier and more ostentatiously feminine, more deserving of adornment than ever before, but the FUCKING COST.

They really take the piss these maternity brands. Take the nauseating markups of female “care” products, times it by a million, then add a jolt of urgency all frosted with the simpering situational positioning; “spoil yourself, it’s a special time.” As with weddings, there’s a canned spray of exclusive preciousness to the whole affair. Because YOLO. Because soon you’ll be too busy for self-care. Because this could be your last time. All the manipulative tricks in one bundle of stress for a target demographic whose brains are changing faster than puberty. Yay capitalism.

But because I loved being pregnant and never felt better about my body, which was doing everything right and deserved to be universally admired, I was down to play.

Alas, my first pregnancy styling efforts were stymied. Bloat is no consideration when pregnant—nor, since we lived in LA at the time, was weather—so I rocked bodycon and Tshirt dresses until late into the 2nd trimester. Right around the time I was big enough for a warm welcome at Isabella Oliver at the Grove, we moved across the country move to NYC. It was mid-February 2020. By the time we’d unpacked our new apartment, COVID eradicated all need for clothing besides dress shirts and sweatpants.

My second pregnancy was planned for all the right reasons; to grow our family and give the gift of siblinghood to our sibling-thirsty daughter. In addition, I was looking forward to the fringe benefit of a COVID pregnancy do-over. Marketing man’s dream that I am, I yielded that this was a special—and final!—time. Also at this point I lived in Park Slope, a place where walking the streets in Bryr clogs, Christine Alcalay gaucho pants and swing coats, and Meg jumpsuits appears to be a common full-time job. Obviously I had to keep up.

But my wallet was more constrained than ever, stretched as it was to cover full-time childcare, not to mention all the random things kids need* like daily bribes of $6 croissants from Hungry Ghost to go to school. Also I popped sooner, it was cold, and I didn’t have the luxury of child-free free-time to meander through boutiques.

PSP provided a serendipitous source of good condition second hand statement pieces (including this black jumpsuit from Hatch).

But serendipity giveth and it taketh away. Frequently someone would post a perfect piece that would be claimed by the time I reached out. I’d scour the internet determined to have it, then shriek like a spider had fallen into my bra when the retail price loaded on screen.

Bathing suits were the worst offenders. One is at one’s most vulnerable in a bathing suit. Especially when one cannot shave one’s own bikini line (if one is so inclined). The purveyors of maternity bathing suits know the power they wield and charge accordingly.

In the miserable depths of February, we irresponsibly sprung for a family babymoon at Club Med Cancun. In April—two mere months away—I’d be 8 months pregnant, bigger than ever, and in 100 degree heat for 7 days straight. I would/could not, however, spend $100s on bathing suits**. Sew game on.

The wand chooses the wizard. The fabric chooses the pattern. But there is. So. Much. Swimwear fabric on Etsy. Neoprene, lycra, metallic, geometric, ribbed, self-lined, fluorescent, tye dye. Black and white Escher-style stingray prints, whimsical Francophilia with baguettes and berets and Eiffel Towers. Weed flowers in every size and psychedelic shade.

The goal was to make a few suits, but maybe also modular pieces would give more variety with less effort, in which case the fabric needed to coordinate without being matchy matchy? I discovered these random fabric bundles, and the relief at having decisions made for me sealed the deal. (Between the fabric, swimsuit lining, thread and elastic I spent about $50).

All patterns came from Etsy including these bottoms, this ruffle top and this cross-front top, plus a one-piece with the top and bottom sewn together. Plus a ruffle-butt bikini for the kiddo of course.

Sewing bathing suits is a pain in the ass. Lots of fiddly tight little hems, lots of short seams held taut with narrow strips of elastic. Stretch fabrics need to be sewn with zigzag stitches (or double stitches with gaps between each stitch) to balance out the constant tension of wear with negative ease. An uneven seam is especially ugly on a zigzag stitch, as you can clearly see above. But by the third suit, my seams were decent. And for my first attempts at swimwear–actually my first projects with stretch fabric!--I’m pretty proud of how they turned out.

I still have both suits in my closet. They are minimally worn, washed, in great condition for next time…

JK there will be no next time! If you’re reading this, pregnant, incensed at the price of maternity swimwear, and not at all squinchy about secondhand bottoms, hit me up!

…Or reach out if you want your own brand-spanking-new custom-designed maternity suit. It won’t be cheaper than retail, but this is such a special time and you’re worth it.

*You don’t have to

**Also because I’d just spent all my money on Club Med Cancun