Europeans are better at almost everything than us Britons, from food, weather and Eurovision to – ahem – football. But one place they lose, trousers down, is in acceptable male beachwear. Only on the beaches of Saint-Jean-de-Luz, Gran Canaria and Ostseebad Warnemünde will you find the local men confidently peeled down to nothing but a tiny pair of swimming briefs or, worse still in beach cafes come lunchtime, just the briefs with socks and sandals.
The British wouldn’t usually be seen dead in such figure-hugging monstrosities. Why is this? Has our collective modesty led us to a national repression? Or is there simply an unspoken British tradition of preferring to avoid implying: “Here are my genitals. Please rate them.”
Tight, brief-style men’s swimsuits became popular in Australia at the start of the 20th century. The former Australian prime minister Tony Abbott was noted for his “budgie smugglers” – a term used in Australia, New Zealand and the UK as “a jocular reference to a man’s tight-fitting swimming costume or swimsuit appearing as if he has a budgerigar concealed inside ie his bulging genitals”.
Famous fans from these isles include Ray Winstone, who sports a bright yellow pair in 2000’s Sexy Beast. David Beckham modelled an impractical white pair for H&M in 2014, and the presenter Nick Knowles wore a fetching red pair in the I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here! jungle in 2018. Some lists of famous wearers of bum-huggers include Daniel Craig, who comes out of the sea in a tight pair of light blue trunks in 2006’s Casino Royale, a tribute to Ursula Andress and her white bikini from 1962’s Dr No. His trunks later sold for £44,450 at auction despite the fact that, to the trained eye, they extend too far down the leg to count as true budgies.
In April, the Irish actor Andrew Scott donned a pair of retro black-and-white film-noir huggies for his portrayal of the 1950s sociopathic conman Tom Ripley – although they were perhaps less daring than the lime green version worn by Matt Damon in 1999 when playing the same character. Earlier this month, the Normal People actor Theo James filmed a new advert for Dolce & Gabbana in Capri in a pair of white tighties. Trunks by BDXY, the actor Luke Evans’s brand, leave little to the imagination, such as what the outline of his business looks like. According to Lucy Maguire, the senior trends editor at Vogue Business, this is all thanks to the boom in “babygirl men”, with celebrities such as Jacob Elordi, Timothée Chalamet and Pedro Pascal unafraid “to show more skin and embrace bold style choices”.
Prince William wasn’t shy of a pair of grey ball-huggers playing water polo at university. You wouldn’t catch Tom Daley plunging into the pool without a pair, either. But this is OK because that’s what swimming trunks are for: swimming. I’m a regular (if not very good) swimmer and wouldn’t be seen dead in a pair, preferring oversize orange Superdry boarding shorts that go down to my knees and are freezing cold the millisecond I get out of the water. In the name of journalism, I decided to swap my baggy shorts for a more figure-hugging little number and pop down to the local lido to see how I got on.
Trunks usually come with an inside netting. My eye-wincingly tight pair of £19.99 “men’s low-rise swim briefs” gave me a weird feeling of skin on polyester that I hadn’t experienced before. Also, my old trunks had pockets. Where was I supposed to keep my locker key? I don’t own any sandals, so I styled out the walk from changing room to pool in trunks plus trainers and got in as quickly as possible before someone noticed me.
Without the usual swim drag of swaths of material, I instantly felt the benefit. Forty lengths later I’d forgotten I was wearing them completely (which has happened before when my shorts have fallen off, sunk to the bottom and I’ve swum on obliviously). My skin-tight briefs remained so safely attached I’d happily wear them next time I take the Wild Water Rapids at Center Parcs, where my trunks also once made it down before I did. Am I a convert? For swimming, yes. For fashion, I remain unconvinced. Call me old fashioned, but next time I want to smuggle a budgerigar, I think I’ll do it somewhere other than my pants.
Rich Pelley is a freelance writer
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