Bikini Photo Quotes

Do I worry about overly retouched photos giving women unrealistic expectations and body image issues? I do. I think that we will soon see a rise in anorexia in women over seventy. Because only people over seventy are fooled by Photoshop. Only your great-aunt forwards you an image of Sarah Palin holding a rifle and wearing an American-flag bikini and thinks it’s real. Only your uncle Vic sends a photo of Barack Obama wearing a hammer and sickle T-shirt and has to have it explained to him that somebody faked that with the computer.

She was ovulating, and posted a photo of herself in a bikini with the disturbing caption "god's little dog treat." Her mother called exactly fourteen minutes later. "You're not an atheist, are you?" she asked. "That's not what I meant," she assured her, and explained that the post was actually kind of Christian. Her body was trying to knock itself up, the only way it knew how.

SeaWorld decided to use Shamu in a promotional photo session with a model dressed in a bikini. The model, a secretary at SeaWorld, was to take three rides on Shamu. But by the second ride, the whale was showing signs of annoyance. On the third ride, Shamu refused to follow a command and, in the ensuing confusion, the model fell into the water. The whale bit her on the lower torso and limbs and, for several minutes, refused to let her go. The model survived the attack but spent several days in the hospital, where she received more than 100 stitches. She was scarred for life.

This ebook contains 28 photos of 4 Brazilian girlfriends of mine: Mariana, Eva, Tereza and Angela. All beautiful women wearing bikinis on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro.

and the weirdest stuff that you can’t find anywhere else in the world. An entire video arcade filled with nothing but photo booths? Yep. A vending machine that grows and sells fresh heads of lettuce? Yep. A restaurant with a dinner show where bikini-clad dancers ride in on huge robots and tanks?

Ciao, ragazzi!” Paige is saying to a couple of smooth-skinned, darkly tanned boys who’ve got up the courage to approach her. “Ciao, bella!” one says back eagerly. Oh, I think wistfully, if we could all be as light and easygoing as Paige, the world would be a much happier place! Paige wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she’d spotted a portrait that looked just like her in a museum! She’d have said “Cool,” taken a photo, made it her Facebook profile for a few weeks, and then forgotten about it completely. She’s not only the queen of this beach, she’s the queen of living in the moment, not worrying about things she can’t control. That’s what you should be doing, Violet, I tell myself. Live in the moment, okay? Stop looking over at your phone on the lounger, wondering if Mum’s about to ring or text. You’re in Venice on the beach in the summer sunshine! Enjoy it! Paige and her new friends are throwing around a big stripy ball, the boys’ lean bodies jumping and twisting in the air like slim brown dolphins, Paige’s boobs jiggling in a way the boys doubtless intended when they produced the ball. The lifeguard’s attention is so focused on the contents of her bikini top that a whole family could be eaten by sharks, screaming for help, without his having the faintest idea. Live in the moment. “Hey,” I yell. “Chuck it to me!” And I run up the wet sand toward them.

I argued that modern women see no contradiction in being both informed and fashionable (and that men's magazines don't get much grief for running photos of women in bikinis alongside lengthy reportage).

THERE’S A PHOTO I KEEP IN THE TOP left-hand drawer of my desk, a little picture in an old lacquered frame. I used to have it out on my desk, but not any more. In the photo, you’re very young – only one or two years old – and I’m holding you in my arms and we’re standing on a hot beach with the sun shining down on us, sea glittering behind us, sky so blue above. My bikini is the brightest neon pink. I remember that bikini. You’re wearing nothing, your plump legs wrapped around my hip, your small hand pressed against my breast. And my ponytail’s slick and dark from the sea, your hair too, a couple of wet curls on the top of your little head. And I’m looking at you and you’re looking back at me, the two of us looking at each other and laughing. And we’re still just babies, both of us. Nothing has happened to us yet.