When I’m on the beach, leave me and my body alone, s’il vous plaît
How often do you think about the fact that you have a body? This isn’t a grand philosophical question, even though it may sound like one. I realised some years ago that I am more aware of my status as the owner of flesh and bones when I am in France.
Because I grew up there, I didn’t notice it straight away. It took moving to Britain and occasionally returning home to have this epiphany about my corporeal state. Again, I am not seeking to make some deep metaphysical statement here. It’s just that when you’re in France and you’re a woman, some men like to remind you of the fact.
It isn’t always creepy or threatening, at least in my case – perhaps I’ve been lucky so far. Men whistle as you walk past and look you up and down and maybe shout something that they wouldn’t want their mother hearing. You keep walking, they keep walking, life goes on.
Still, it makes it very hard to exist in the world without constantly thinking about your own legs, and chest, and hair, and whatever you happen to be wearing that day. It may not be threatening but it is tiring. You don’t always want to have the outside world in your head, telling you repeatedly that you are a woman, existing in a woman’s body.
It’s especially true at the beach, where one ought to be allowed to splash around in the waves like an ecstatic labrador without being reminded of the skin they have on show.
At least Marseille is trying to do something about it. The city recently launched an app called Safer Plage – quel delightful Franglais – aiming to help female bathers in the area. Once downloaded, it can be used to report incidents happening in real time, at which point a team of two people will locate them and attempt to separate the user from the person or group threatening them.
The app has three levels – “I’m uncomfortable”, “I’m being harassed” and “I’m in danger” – and is now in use in four areas in the region. It is, sadly, a good idea: according to a local politician, about 55% of women in Marseille no longer feel safe going to the beach by themselves.
It is hard to put into words just how infuriating that is. Swimming in the sea is something anyone should be able to do, without as much as a second thought. It is the most fun a person can have with only some of their clothes on.
Many of my most cherished childhood memories took place on the beaches of the western coast, and most of them feature female relatives sunbathing without their tops on. The beach was a place where all bodies felt equal, and none of them mattered. That I spent so much time there is, I think, the reason why I feel so comfortable in my own skin now.
What a shame it is, then, to realise that fewer and fewer women sunbathe topless in France. According to a 2019 study, 25% of women aged 40 and over at the beach took their bikini tops off. The figure for 30- to 39-year-olds was 16%, and went down again to 13% for under-30s. No reason was given or found for the shift, but it isn’t hard to guess what may have happened.
Of course, they aren’t the ones to blame: if so many of them feel unsafe going to the beach altogether, it shouldn’t be a surprise that very few would consider going topless. Even on the sand and in the sea, they cannot be allowed to forget that they are women, and that they have bodies that others can look at. There is no escape.
What can be done about it? Marseille’s app feels like a step in the right direction, and any attempt to keep women safe should be applauded, but it is hard to feel too optimistic about it.
Some men in France don’t seem willing to let women go through life as people, neutral and unobserved, and so the ogling and remarks will probably move away from the sand and back into the streets. The culture needs to change, but will it? I’m not holding my breath.
In the meantime, I suppose I will have to find comfort in the relative coldness and awkwardness of British people. It may sometimes be alienating, but when I am here I do not have to think about my body all the time. That’s a good thing.
Marie Le Conte is a French journalist living in London
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One ought to be allowed to splash around like an ecstatic labrador without being reminded of the skin on show