Most one-piece swimsuits are designed for women who are at least 5’7”. If you are 5’1” like me, the extra fabric in the crotch makes you look like you’re wearing a soggy diaper. It’s humiliating. I spend my days working in logistics—staring at shipping manifests and ensuring things fit into containers they were meant for—so it drives me absolutely insane when clothing brands can’t figure out basic spatial dimensions. You can’t just take a standard pattern, shrink it by 5%, and call it ‘petite.’ That’s not how geometry works.
The day I gave up on ‘One Size Fits All’
It was July 2019. Destin, Florida. I had saved up for this ridiculously expensive $110 J.Crew classic one-piece because the reviews said it was ‘timeless.’ I put it on in the hotel room, and it looked okay in the mirror. But the second I stepped into the Gulf, the weight of the water took over. Because my torso wasn’t long enough to provide the vertical tension the suit needed, the straps just… gave up. They slid down my arms like a saggy accordion. I spent the rest of the day clutching my chest like a Victorian widow while my husband tried not to laugh. I looked ridiculous. I felt even worse. That was the moment I realized that ‘regular’ sizing is a lie told to short people to keep us spending money on alterations.
I’ve spent the last three years obsessively testing this. I’ve bought and returned exactly 14 different suits from 9 brands. I even started measuring the ‘shoulder-to-gusset’ distance with a sewing tape measure because I don’t trust website size charts anymore. For the record, if you’re under 5’3”, you probably need a vertical trunk measurement of 26 inches or less. Anything more and you’re in diaper territory.
I’m convinced that 90% of ‘petite’ sections are just regular clothes with the sleeves cut off by some guy named Gary who has never actually met a woman under five-foot-four.
The brand I’ve grown to actually loathe
I know everyone and their mother recommends Aerie for ‘affordable’ petite options. I think Aerie is gaslighting us. I bought three of their ‘Short’ length suits last year. I tracked the fit over six weeks of pool use. By week three, the recycled nylon had stretched so much that the ‘Short’ length was effectively a ‘Long.’ I measured the torso after it air-dried: 28.5 inches. That is not a petite suit. That is a regular suit that’s been labeled ‘short’ to make us feel included. I refuse to recommend them. I don’t care if they’re cheap. They’re disposable garbage that loses its shape faster than a wet paper bag.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. It’s about the recovery of the fabric. If the fabric is cheap, the ‘petite’ fit only lasts until the first time you get it wet. Then you’re back to square one.
The math of the perfect fit
I might be wrong about this, but I think adjustable straps are a scam for lazy designers. People say, ‘Oh, just tighten the straps!’ No. If you tighten the straps too much on a suit that’s too long, you just pull the crotch of the suit up into places it shouldn’t go. It doesn’t solve the fabric bunching at the waist. You need a suit that is cut shorter in the actual body panel.
- Summersalt (The Sidestroke): I tested this in a size 6 Petite. The compression is real. It’s 25.8 inches from shoulder to crotch. It stays put.
- Andie Swim (The Mykonos): They actually ask you about your torso length in their fit quiz. It’s the only time I’ve felt seen by a corporation.
- Boden: Their ‘Petite’ range is actually proportioned correctly, meaning the waist hit where my actual waist is, not three inches down on my hips.
Anyway, I was talking to my sister about this—she’s 5’9” and has the opposite problem, which I find very hard to be sympathetic about—and she mentioned that she just buys bigger sizes. Must be nice. But for us, the ‘size up’ strategy just results in more horizontal fabric that we don’t need. We need less vertical. It’s a completely different axis of struggle. But I digress.
A very unpopular opinion about black swimsuits
I know people will disagree with me here, but I think black one-pieces are a terrible choice for petite women. Everyone says black is ‘slimming’ and ‘classic.’ On a short frame, a solid block of black fabric just swallows you. It turns you into a tiny, dark rectangle. You lose all your shape. I’ve found that color-blocking or high-cut legs (I’m talking 80s style) are the only way to actually look like you have legs. If you wear a low-cut leg in a dark color, you look like a Lego person. There, I said it.
Total lie. Black isn’t a ‘safe’ choice; it’s a boring one that hides your proportions.
I used to think bikinis were the only way out. I thought, ‘If there’s no middle section, there’s nothing to bunch up.’ I was wrong. A well-fitted petite one-piece actually makes me feel more confident than a bikini ever did, mostly because I’m not constantly adjusting the top. But finding that fit? It’s a full-time job. I spent $642 on returns last year just trying to find the three suits that actually worked. Most people don’t have the patience for that. They just buy a suit that ‘mostly fits’ and feel slightly annoyed all summer. Don’t be that person.
If you want the short version: Buy the Summersalt Sidestroke in Petite. It’s $95 and it feels like a second skin—no, let’s go with: it feels like a very expensive, very tight hug. It’s the only one that didn’t fail me in the ocean.
Why is it so hard for brands to just use less fabric? I genuinely don’t know the answer.
