Know what? Rock stars (our moral, physical, and cultural betters) are no different. Below is an assortment of vintage pix of rock stars in their swimsuits. Know why? Because like I said, it’s August. Ain’t nothing better to do.
Take a look at Rod Stewart’s crotch. His pubes are cascading out like a crab-ridden waterfall, and his genitals are crammed into that gusset tighter than the trash bag of sweaters your grandma dropped off at Goodwill. The overall ill fit of the bottoms coupled with the matching tank top leads me to believe this isn’t even a swimming outfit, but a set of woman’s nightclothes.
Britt Ekland looks all right.
Guys, I don’t think Elvis is really surfing.
Ignore The Beatles, each of them wearing collared, button-up shirts in the goddamn ocean. No, the real hero of this photo is the lady over Ringo’s shoulder. Her hair. Her skin. Her saucy smile, her hand slammed sassily on her matronly hip. She wants those boys, and only a woman with her experience (you know she was banging GIs by the dozen during the War) could show them how it’s done. That lady probably died, like, 30 years ago.
Also, it is absolutely hilarious that it used to be acceptable to take the biggest celebrities in the world and plunk them down for a press photo without first clearing the beach of fatties, uggos, normies and fans. You know, average human people. Imagine trying to do the same thing with any band today: do you think they’d let your great-aunt Debbie just mill about in the background while Incubus splashes around on their special needs field trip? The fuck they would.
Tune in next week (still August) for more vintage photos of rock stars in their bathing suits, wherein we will examine sea heifer Gwen Stefani and contemplate the nature of David Bowie’s junk.