Why everyone wants to be a mermaid
As a mermaid is banned from her local pool, Eleanor Steafel says a new cultural obsession is making a splash
Every now and again, something utterly incongruous captures the zeitgeist. A cultural obsession so bizarre that you don’t know where it came from, or what it really means but, whether you like it or not, you are aware of its existence – conscious that it is the must-have, must-do thing of the moment. Last summer, it was unicorns – you couldn’t move for unicorn slippers, phone cases, prints.
No hen weekend was complete without a series of photos posted on Instagram of grown women perched awkwardly on inflatable unicorn pool toys. There is no knowing which way the wind will blow next, but right now, you may be aware that we are living through the age of the mermaid.
This week, a bizarre story hit the headlines. An 18-year-old girl from Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, was asked to refrain from swimming up and down the lanes of her local swimming pool wearing a large shimmering tail. You might imagine that Mermaid Aries (real name: Leia Trigger) was some harmless but ultimately delusional teenager who genuinely believed she was a mermaid – a sign millennials had well and truly lost the plot. But, in fact, mermaids are no longer just the stuff of rather dated films starring Daryl Hannah, they have re-entered our cultural landscape.
After Kim Kardashian hosted a mermaid-themed party for her daughter North, tails were this summer’s must-have summer accessory. Type the hashtag #Mermaidlife, or #Mermaidmonday into Twitter or Instagram, and you will enter a parallel universe, one where discussions surround the best waterproof body shimmer available on niche American make-up sites, advice on how to get the ultimate tiedye effect on your flowing locks, and inspirational messages about how “life will be better when you’re swimming”.
What’s more, the Starbucks secret menu (yes, such a thing exists) features a lurid pink and green mermaid Frapuccino; there is a popular Netflix series called H2O about three girls who become mermaids; a whole host of mermaid novels have been released recently; and Sofia Coppola, the film director, is in the process of creating a live-action interpretation of Hans Christian Andersen’s original story.
There are countless sites dedicated to the subject of professional “mermaiding”, too. UK Merpod is a popular Facebook account, while Mumsnet-esque discussion forums like “Mernetwork” feature advice on making your own tail and how to benefit from the “mermaid economy”. It isn’t even simply a fantasy played out online – there is now a Miss Mermaid UK pageant, and this year saw the UK’S first ever mermaid convention in south-east London.
And just as it is now possible to make a living as an Instagram influencer (key skills required for this seem to include looking good perched on aforementioned inflatable unicorn in an infinity pool), young men and women are aspiring in ever increasing numbers to become professional mermaids – or, indeed, mermen. Because “mermaiding” is, apparently, a viable career choice now.
Leia says she wasn’t simply going for a swim in a mermaid tail so she could post a picture of herself doing so on Instagram; she wanted to practise her technique, specifically making underwater bubble hearts.
“It just looks so much fun,” she tells me. “It’s so unique, so different to what most people do for a living.
“I want to start doing kids parties in the next year and I was practising in my local swimming pool, but now they have told me I can’t go in wearing my monotail anymore because it’s a health and safety hazard.” So what is the allure? Time was when mermaids were the stuff of myths, captivating sailors in the early 19th century who told tales of creatures luring them on to the rocks. One Cornish vicar is said to have played tricks on the people of Bude by disguising himself as a mermaid, and sitting on a rock singing and calling to the boats as they passed, terrifying fishermen. You had to get your kicks where you could in 1823.
Laura Evans, who has been a fully fledged modern-day mermaid for two years, says it’s the pure, innocent magic of it all that first attracted her. She is now the resident mermaid in the St Ives harbour and was in her mid-20s when she began to feel there might be an alternative to working in a 9-to-5 job for the NHS in London.
After relocating to St Ives, where she grew up, Laura found herself falling back in love with the sea, and swam as often as she could after work.
“I was paddleboarding one evening. I’d been a little way out of the harbour taking underwater photographs. It had been a beautiful August day and I was paddleboarding back to shore with a glorious sunset behind me when I thought: ‘What if on an evening like this a mermaid were to swim into St Ives harbour? Can you imagine people’s reaction?’”
She, too, had noticed the increasing mermaid hashtags on social media and realised mermaiding was catching on in Britain. “They’ve long had tail-makers in America,” she says. “In Florida, they have bars where mermaids dance in tanks. After a lot of research, I just thought: ‘I’m going to do it.’” Laura, 30, has worked for two years as a professional mermaid. She still has a part-time job with the NHS, but every weekend, she puts on a shimmering blue tail, a shell bikini and a beautiful coral headdress, and assumes her alter ego. She appears at children’s parties, company events and in hotel swimming pools. She loves this work, but her real passion is the so-called “public appearances” she carries out in the summer.
Clambering down the rocks in the St Ives harbour, down to a small hidden cove, Laura changes into her tail and begins the swim around the rocks and towards the shore. “The first few times I did it, I just thought: ‘Why the bloody hell am I doing this?’ I was terrified. What if people just thought it was rubbish?
“But as soon as I get in the water, I’m OK. I’m just going for a swim. When I get past the rocks, I’ll dive under for the first time and do a big tail flick and a splash. I can’t hear it myself but people have recorded videos and the whole beach is cheering and screaming.”
These appearances are for no other purpose than to delight the holidaymakers and locals. “It’s totally free, it’s simply about me giving something back to St Ives. I was very depressed when I came back from London and this town, and the sea here healed me.” Laura understands why some might find it bizarre, and admits she gets some strange reactions from people (along with the odd predictable email from men known as “merverts”, who want her to send them pictures of herself in her costume). But for her, it is a way of sparking people’s imagination.
“What could be more magical than having a picnic on the beach and seeing a mermaid swim to shore?”