Mankinis

 

Here's an interesting fact about the word 'mankini': it is one of a handful of words that made it into the English dictionary back in 2008, along with the words 'prequel' and 'chugger'.

 

I have always believed that necessity is the mother of invention when it comes to the coining of new words. The word 'prequel' would not exist if Hollywood hadn't gone through a phase of dishing out back-stories to blockbusters. If we didn't hear the phrase "can I just stop you there, Smiley?" from charity muggers every time we walked down the high street, the abbreviation 'chuggers' would be unnecessary.  So why has such a, shall we say, specialised word as 'mankini' been absorbed into the language at all? Where is the demand? Who, prior to 2008, was gesticulating wildly trying to locate the word for a bright, lycra, stretchy man's thong with built-in braces?  Who can we blame for this? 

 

I cannot answer this question, and doubt you are scrawling down a list of names for me either. You may be thinking that, as everything around us has a name, there is no reason why dreadful male swimwear should be an exception. I disagree. There are plenty of things in the world that are created and sold and consumed whilst remaining nameless. The little triangles that stick the corners of your photos down in albums. The rubbery thimble-type thing I put on my finger so I can turn pages quickly in work. Most of the fiddly bits you get in polythene bags when you buy Ikea furniture.  These things are left untitled, and the world continues to turn.

 

Having said this, that rubbery thimble-type thing that I use in work has never been worn publicly by a celebrity. If Oprah Winfrey went around with one on her pinkie, it would soon be bestowed with a name. Finger Bonnet. Paper Poker. Office Accelerator 3000. The mankini was worn by Sacha Baron Cohen in a comedy film, and movie magazine editors needed a caption for the eye-watering promotional photographs. "Sacha Baron Cohen wearing a nameless obscenity" simply wouldn't do.

 

Since being labelled, mankinis have thrived, and have found their way into all good fancy dress shops, to be bought by best men and forced onto unsuspecting grooms on their stag dos in Amsterdam. My friend's husband was one of these Unfortunates. She showed us the photographs of him clasped inside one, like a forest creature in a steel trap. His eyes were shiny, his smile was panicked, and he was almost certainly angling himself to show us his best side. Perhaps having the correct word for his outfit helped him to verbalise his pain.