Thong Of The South

They come from a distant galaxy, where women have perfect bodies but are, for some odd reason, unable to properly size themselves and end up spilling out of swimsuits that are ridiculously small for them. That, to answer your question, is where we find the models for our swimsuit issue. But what about their bathing suits? Where do they come from? Ask a typical male reader of the issue that question, and he will answer, What suits? For the longest time, I was that philistine. If I paid any attention to the suits in the swimsuit issue, it was to study how the supermodel within was filling out, stretching and/or distressing the fabric. I perused the magazine in a state of heavy-breathing ignorance, unaware of the difference between a bandeau and a tankini, a soft-cup triangle top and a demi bra with removable push-up pads. I did not know a string bikini from a ruffled thong, a halterkini from a hole in the ground. I thought a floating underwire had something to do with the phone company.

It was no way to go through life, and I saw the light last July at Cruise 2000, the epic annual bikinifest that is to swimwear trade shows what Sturgis, S.Dak., is to motorcycle rallies. Produced by the Swimwear Association of Florida, Cruise 2000 took place over five days in the Miami International Merchandise Mart, a Pentagon-sized structure wherein approximately 400 swimwear manufacturers used roughly 500 goose-bump-afflicted models—the air conditioning raged out of control throughout—to display thousands of new suits. Most of the attendees were buyers from swimsuit outlets such as Saks, Neiman Marcus and Victoria's Secret, the bikini bellwethers who decide what we will see on beaches this summer.

Then there was us. This was where Diane Smith and Jenny Stern chose most of the suits sported by models in this magazine. Diane is the senior editor for the swimsuit issue, Jen is an assistant editor. They let me tag along, provided I kept up with them and did not embarrass them with anything I said or wore. When I did start lagging behind, sympathizing with models about the hidden difficulties of their jobs—the tiny changing rooms with no mirrors, the air conditioning issue—Jen threatened to attach me to one of those retractable leashes mothers use in airports on small children.

I was struck right away by the popularity of my colleagues, which was not all due to their good looks and winning personalities. Getting a suit in the SI swimsuit issue is "a designer's dream, like winning an Academy Award," says Ritchie Berger, CEO of Ritchie Swimwear. It creates buzz for a designer and gooses sales. When Kathy Ireland appeared in this magazine 16 years ago wearing the bottom half of a Keiko white lace bikini—the top dangled from one hand while she chastely covered herself with the other—"the company couldn't make enough of them," says Ritchie. (He prefers to be known by his first name, like Cher and Elmo.)

Diane and Jen were lavished with attention at the show, pestered, stalked and, in one instance, followed into the lavatory. Little wonder that as we motored over the MacArthur Causeway en route to the Merchandise Mart one morning, Di said to Jen, "Aren't you excited to see more bathing suits?"

"So excited I could barely sleep," said Jen, her voice dripping sarcasm. She had not yet had her coffee.

Most of the 400 booths in the Merchandise Mart were festively decorated; it was as if we'd entered a bikini theme park, or the world's best bar mitzvah. The first conversation I had was with Lisa Cabrinha, who designs suits for Letarte. She is a former pro Windsurfer who said of her company's creations, "I've tried every one of these windsurfing in the waves, and they stay on." She said that as if it's a good thing. I longed to linger but was hurried along by my colleagues to booth 1044, where a voluptuous 20-year-old named Kim was refusing to come out of the dressing room. Kim was modeling an iridescent green bikini by Onda de Mar. The problem? "She's popping out of it," said Laura Stein, the company's rep. "Tell her not to worry," I said, soothingly. "We're all professionals here." When Kim finally emerged, I noticed that she took care to avoid sudden movements. Smart girl. If one of her straps had popped, it could have put someone's eye out.

Diane passed on that sorely taxed suit but ordered a scaly, green, reptilian-looking number—and asked the question she would pose repeatedly over the next few days: "Can you make the bottom smaller?" If a suit can't fit a supermodel just right, we tend to err on the side of less coverage, not more. But then, if you've ever glanced at one of these issues, you already knew that.

Diane's next-most-frequent question: "Does it come in a thong?"

"The girls love the thong," she says. "With their bodies, who wouldn't?"