I once fell asleep in the sun wearing a crucifix around my neck. It wasn’t deliberate, but for the next three weeks I walked around with a white cross emblazoned on my chest. I can’t say it was a good look, but it certainly got looks. Most people will have similar tales of tan line fiascos, especially in the UK, where we get so little sun that everyone completely overdoes it, gets sunstroke and ends up painfully pink.
Now I’m not championing the lobster look, nor am I championing tanning for that matter (it’s still as dangerous and damaging as ever), but picture this. You’re on the tube and someone lifts their arm to hold onto the railing above their head. As they do, their shirt rides up to reveal a glimpse of waistband, and with it, a tan line that points to where briefs or bikini-bottoms once sat. That’s hot. But why?
