Why shouldn't we laugh at the 'facekini'

«Kini» is no longer just the end of bikini: has become almost a suffix. Over the past few decades, it has been combined with all sorts of words to designate new ways of dressing – or undressing – the body on the beach. From the foundational bikini to monokini, the trikini, the tankini, the microkini, the burkini, the seekini or the most recent skirtkini. But if there was a turn that few of us saw coming it was the facekini: a piece that, instead of revealing more skin, completely covers our face to enter the sea. Before, however, that the brother-in-law reflex is activated and someone says that "the fashion world has once again invented another stupidity," it is worth giving it the benefit of the doubt. Because this disconcerting piece, in addition to the face, hides a story much less frivolous than it seems and, above all, offers an opportunity to question the way we look at clothes when they come from other cultures.

In 2004, Zhang Shifan, a retired former accountant who helped at her husband's swimsuit shop, encountered a common problem on the beaches of Qingdao, in China's coastal province of Shandong. Every summer, jellyfish stings were a constant concern among swimmers. Shifan initially marketed full-body swimsuits, but customers pointed out that their faces remained completely exposed. Inspired by divers' hoods, she created a mask that left only the eyes, nose, and mouth uncovered. Thus, the facekini was born. Over time, however, that mask also began to serve another function: protecting the skin from the sun. And this brings us to a polarization of tastes regarding beauty standards for skin: tanned or white?

Although it may seem like a trifle, it is true that beauty standards always respond to more complex issues. Paul Valéry already pointed out that "The deepest thing about a human being is the skin," to highlight that, wrongly, we tend to oppose surface and depth, when, in reality, the skin is where a good part of what we are manifests itself. In the case of tanning, white skin in the West has been, for centuries, a powerful marker of power, as it denoted that you enjoyed a privileged position that did not force you to do any productive work. And, under colonialism, skin color ceased to be just an aesthetic issue to also become an instrument of classification and hierarchization between Europeans and colonized peoples.This logic began to be reversed with industrialization and would end up consolidating itself at the beginning of the 20th century. If before fieldwork, which was the majority of the population, meant that the skin became tanned, now the 18-hour days in factories ensured that it would be as pale as paper. This fact acquired even more meaning when, in parallel, outdoor sports activities, modern holidays, and swimming became fashionable among the wealthy. And, since then, we have imprudently baked ourselves under the sun's rays, believing it to be only a matter of beauty, when social hierarchies are also at stake. The facekini makes visible a new turn – or a return to origins – regarding skin and beauty standards, as studies warn that it is people with higher purchasing power and cultural level who avoid unconscious sun exposure, not only to avoid the dreaded skin cancer but also to prevent photoaging.When Zhang Shifan invented the facekini, he only wanted to protect his skin from jellyfish. Later, the garment also served to protect it from the sun. Who knows if, in the future, someone will find a third unexpected use for it: protecting another surface even more exposed and profound than the skin, identity. In a China where facial recognition is part of the daily landscape and has become a fundamental tool for population control and citizen surveillance, it is inevitable to wonder if the face will end up demanding the same protection that the skin previously required.