An experiment: a long walk on a Saturday between Los Cristianos and Las Américas, in the south of Tenerife. Without much rigor, we count how many women are not wearing a bikini top and find a total of five. As is obvious, this count has been made with a quick glance, and in any case, the number obtained is as arbitrary as any.
What matters is the proportion: it’s the weekend and the beaches are crowded. Another: some acquaintances spend the day at Las Gaviotas, known for being a nudist beach forever. What they report is revealing: “Only the two of us and another couple, quite older, are doing nudism. The rest don’t just cover their genitals; they are completely dressed.” This isn’t the first time they’ve experienced this, just the first time they’ve shared it in a media outlet.
Extra note: Marta, a woman from the mainland in her late 30s, who has been visiting the Canaries for two decades, sums up the evolution she has seen like this: “I’ve always thought there was a very healthy relationship with the body here. Women of any age would do topless on any beach, and nudist areas were common and pleasant. Each year I come, I see how things have changed. The only ones still doing it are the older ones.”
A question of age
These impressionistic strokes are pure anecdote, but they coincide with a well-known and confirmed reality: topless, which was tremendously common on any beach or pool in the Canaries a decade ago, is in clear decline, and it’s a conversation present for several summers among women who feel that a haven of freedom, which had been hard-earned, has been lost. “Now only the old ones do topless,” says Sara, laughing, who isn’t that old but notes a significant age divide: millennials [born roughly between 1982 and 2000] “were the last generation to have it normalised, and even we have stopped.”
Sandra, in her forties, has been doing it far less frequently for the past two or three years and says: “I’ve spent my whole life doing topless without thinking, and now, after years, I feel watched. It’s never happened to me before.” There’s no survey supporting this widespread perception of feeling watched, but it’s a common murmuring on beaches confirmed by several women questioned.
“We’ve gone from doing it without worry, without thinking, just for comfort, to realising we’re wearing clothes.” Like what happened to the emperor, they’ve had to be pointed out to notice the nakedness. The question is why there’s once again an accusing finger.
Fear of assault and sexual harassment
It’s not surprising that the scientific literature answering this question is scant, but some work has been done, at least in France. According to a report from the French Institute of Public Opinion (IFOP) from 2021, the practice of topless had already been declining in Spain and Europe for a few years, especially among young women. The main reason they cite is fear of sexual assault.
About 50% of young women say this is the fundamental reason for wearing the bikini top at the beach. Moreover, 48% say they avoid topless to prevent intimidating comments or lecherous looks from men. The constant sexualisation of the female body leads to widespread self-censorship.
Fear of being filmed or photographed without consent
The omnipresence of mobile phones with cameras has sparked another fear: that photos or videos will be taken of them without permission and published on social media. This affects 46% of young women, who prefer not to take off their bikini to avoid that unwanted exposure. “I don’t want to relax on my lifetime beach and end up featured on any tourist’s Instagram,” declares a young woman vehemently, held back by this constant surveillance of cameras. The concern for bodily privacy is yet another obstacle to comfort.
Aesthetic pressure and beauty standards on social media
“Sometimes I take it off for a bit if I’m alone, but usually, I feel better in a bikini or swimsuit,” says another young woman. And looking good has also become a paved path today. The Ministry of Equality presented a study this year highlighting the enormous influence of social media on how women, especially younger ones, perceive their bodies.
Eighty-three percent acknowledge that Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube shape their image and lifestyle, and 72% have received advertising related to aesthetic procedures. Sociologist Clara Guilló, who participates in the research, warns that this constant exposure reinforces “unreal beauty stereotypes” and normalises practices like plastic surgery.
Moreover, almost three out of four young women have received direct comments about their looks on social media, creating a climate of insecurity that can lead to difficult-to-detect mental health issues.
The end of “body positivity” and the return of the cult of thinness
It’s curious that this is happening in a world that seemed to be opening up to body diversity, with many positive messages even on the same social media platforms that promote the opposite. And while one might think that the battle against the singular beauty was won, because capitalism had begun to support it with some cosmetic or clothing brands, the reality is that, sadly, it has failed to go beyond a trend that has deflated.
A report published in Vogue Business points out that in 2023 only 0.6% of runway looks were plus-size, and average sizes barely reached 3.7% in 2024. On the other hand, many brands have relegated plus-size fashion to online channels, distancing consumers from the physical experience and reinforcing exclusion.
In Spain, a recent article in El País describes how the so-called “Ozempic revolution” (weight loss drugs) and the renewed cult of thinness are hindering body acceptance. According to activist Magdalena Piñeyro, those who do not lose weight are “blamed,” while platforms like TikTok glorify rapid weight loss disguised as self-care. Nutritionist Azahara Nieto warns that this reinforces a single valid body standard, making it difficult for teenagers and young people to feel comfortable with their bodies if they do not meet that standard.
