What’s In Your Beach Bag?

I plan for August the way some people plan to move apartments or (I assume) run marathons: with a mix of logistical chaos and existential dread. The worst month of a complicated season, I experience those thirty-one days as a test of my endurance and character. To live them with poise—with my sleep cycle uninterrupted by the immense air of my bedroom, with the armpits of my white t-shirts unyellowed, with my friends’ merciful patience for my endless demands to be in the shade—is something I prepare for all year.

I am exaggerating, but only slightly. This year, I have tricked myself into looking forward to summer by planning an event I can’t be sure will happen—the belief that after a year of being distant and cold, I might be able to get to a beach with two friends I love most. We talk about this the way some people talk about new haircuts or (I assume) real vacations: as though by the time it’s over we’ll be not just different but better. I can see myself so clearly, wearing the Bondi Born Blue Rose I chose because I like that the shade of blue is neither sea nor sky but something more like a flower growing out of the ground, standing on the Birkenstock White Platform Sandals which might give me the feeling of having grown up.

I would pack this Lauren Manoogian Beige Cube Tote with the essentials that will keep me from becoming parched and burnt on the sand: sunscreen that I will reapply at regular intervals. A book that will be read rather than held over my face for shade. Water in a bottle for me to drink, the F. Miller Toning Mist for me to spritz on my face and the Christophe Robin Alove Vera Hydrating Leave-In Hair Mist in my hair. Staying hydrated is so important (I’ve heard).

As ever, I'm desperate for glamour, and a sucker for romance, and therefore packing my beach bag as if the task was also to describe my idea of a dream date. This is a spontaneous Tuesday evening in Encinitas, California. Pre-sunset. The two of us make our way toward the water in time to watch the surfers ride their last few waves, and the southwest swells in August bring out all the best talent. Nearby, a family poses for a selfie in front of the day's project: a ridiculously large and lopsided sandcastle. We laugh. The seagulls miraculously relocate to the trash bins by the parking lot. Everybody else goes home—it's just us and the ocean now.

The sky is as orange and awe-striking as this floral slip dress, the sand still warm and soft to the touch, like this breezy button up (a post golden hour essential). We lay out this lush, leopard-print towel and unpack the snacks you spent hours preparing. I might have told you a thousand times, but how did you know I would die for artisanal chips and Castelvetrano olives? When you suggest we open a bottle of limited edition amber wine, I pretend to be surprised, but you know I didn't bring these handcrafted vino vessels for nothing. After a very generous pour, you carefully slide these Bottega Veneta sunglasses off my face and pause to take a closer look. A single tear trickles down your cheek as you tell me that the best view is... me.

Hat—check!
Organza shorts—check!
Loose shirt for sunset hang—check!
Swimsuit, purple—check! check!
Tote for book(s)—check!

Everything listed is super essential. Totes are better when beaded and shorts are more fun when they are Dries.

Curating the contents of a beach bag is a peculiar exercise. It seems to go against its defining principle, which to me, is ease. Beach bags—unlike a travel bag packed meticulously the night before, or a commuter bag, filled with serious stuff like wallets and keys—are exempt from labor and scrutiny. They get to just be. Filled with sand. Containing one flip flop instead of two. Holding your cell phone, or not. The beach is a place to untether, and I want my beach bag to reflect that. A Zebra print bikini underneath the perfect garment dyed green holey knit tank by Nicholas Daley. A baggy short, like this Marni pair to pull on without any fuss when you’ve decided to take one last plunge before heading home. A plush BATHER towel in the juiciest shade of orange. I'll definitely need some sunglasses, too, will take mine in lemon lime Dries Van Noten. All contained in a mesh South2 West8 tote bag with long handles to sling over my shoulders. Did I remember to pack everything else? Not sure. Who cares?

The fact that I forgot to even put a bag in this selection is a good indication of how disorganized I am, especially when preparing for trips or even outings. But this (like all planning) is fantasy, so maybe I don’t even need a bag—I’ve moved to a secluded beach-front property and I walk barefoot down the sandy stairs to my private beach, carrying everything I need in my arms. I use my glossy Lemaire sun-hat to shield my taut skin, sensitized by a range of cutting-edge beauty procedures, from UV damage. My Marni bikini looks vintage, but in a futuristic sporty way, so no one can quite place it. My towel is fun, because so am I, I think as I spread it out. These Kiko Kostadinov sunglasses are certainly a conversation piece, but they make me look just unfriendly enough so that no one wants to talk to me. I put the Big Little Lies theme song on on my sculptural Pantheone speaker. I lean back and look out at the ocean, utterly unpreoccupied—Did you ever want it? Did you want it bad?