A small piece of cloth with what appears to be dental floss attached to it is in my hand. It is without a doubt one of the smallest bikinis I have ever seen, let alone been fortunate enough to handle. You may be wondering why I am holding a bikini in my hand.

Well, there must be something said about skimpy bikinis. Honesty dictates that there isn’t much that needs to be said and that more gaping is required. The only problem is that “skimpy” has been hard to come by. Until recently, that is.

In the late 90’s a young upstart of a company decided their main goal was to start manufacturing and distributing “risqué swimwear & underwear” for women. Men all over the world rejoiced when Wicked Weasel was born.

The business steadily expanded from its base in Byron Bay, Australia, to snag a sizeable chunk of the bikini and swimwear market globally. They were successful in doing so by employing a very direct and basic marketing strategy.

See, the company’s early founders understood that they would need the support of the men if they were to persuade women to dress as simply as you can imagine. Guys don’t really need to be persuaded that clothing that resembles a few pieces of string tied together looks better on a woman. Just persuade them that they should aim lower and toss out the pouting porn star or the sensual supermodel they had ingrained in their minds. Instead, they should persuade them that they will look just as good, if not better, by picturing the girl next door, their girlfriend, or their wife.

The reason I’m holding this bikini in my hand is brought up once more by this. It was a birthday present for my girlfriend that I purchased. She typically avoids beaches and wearing attention-grabbing clothing, but after some prodding, she donned it. She certainly had a great appearance, in my opinion. Fantastic enough that I felt like giving her more “encouragement”. Ehem.

When you see your girl for the first time walking out into the open wearing practically nothing while the rest of the world gasps and gawks, it’s impossible to put into words (mainly because you’re literally speechless). I didn’t realize I had become a blubbering mass of hormonal eye groping until we arrived at our house later that night. I began to understand the meaning of the words “wicked,” “weasel,” and “risqué.”

The reason I’m holding this bikini in my hand is brought up again by this, so there.

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