It’s easy to forget about the rest of the world while living in Oberlin. The other day, a J. Crew catalogue arrived at my house. I believe one sweater is the extent of my J. Crew wardrobe, and I’m pretty sure I purchased it second-hand. Despite this fact, within hours, I found myself pouring over the catalogue. After paging through the middle section, I had a realization that, if I lived in the outside world, would have come quite easily: It’s swimsuit season. Swimsuit season is the collection of months before it is actually warm enough to need a swimsuit. People drive themselves mad trying to find the perfect bathing costume in which to lay on dry ground. Sometimes life at Oberlin just makes more sense.

Now, I would be willing to wager that some of you hadn’t even thought of swimsuit season, and the majority of that group is angry at me for bringing it up. But before you fly into a rage and rend this publication to atoms, take heed: Swimsuit season is a phenomenon that doesn’t have to affect everyone.

Men, for example, seem to be exempt by default. Subtracting those few men who opt for the thong bathing suit, most men haven’t bought a swimsuit in years. Or, if they are in need of a swimsuit, they can easily drop into any store that sells men’s clothing and leave happy within 15 minutes. This fact is clearly illustrated by the term used for male swimsuits: trunks.

Male swim trunks are essentially two cylinders of nylon fabric joined at the waist. They are nondescript, uninteresting and supremely utilitarian. The only real question a man must ask when choosing a pair is whether or not he wants trunks with that little woven set of briefs sewn in or not. Because one pair doesn’t look much different from the next, any ability to wear swim trunks for style, beyond the pattern of material, is eliminated.

For women, the issue is a bit more complicated, as indicated by the fact that swimsuits for women are so far removed from the simplicity of their male counterparts. First, everything must cling. There is no roomy option as there is with male trunks; you want to go swimming, you’ll have to deal with cling.

Then, all swimsuits must cut high on the hip exposing the body part about which many women are most self-conscious. Yes, there has been the innovation of “boy-shorts,” but they only give the wearer an extra two inches of material and, in truth, look nothing like the shorts of a male, regardless of age (again, those in thong bathing suits excluded).

Finally, the one-piece, two-piece question lingers. Lifeguards, professional swimmers and women concerned about their tummies typically opt for the one-piece, while the two-piece is the suit of choice for models, celebrities and women who want to show off their chests in exchange for beads at Daytona Beach.

Both have their faults: The one-piece has the potential to give a person that smooth, porpoise-like look whereas the two-piece is usually held together by little more than a double-knot, therefore preventing the wearer from doing anything more than “laying out.” Neither seems like a good choice, and the whole situation seems foolish.

What is to be done? With the throwback jersey and vintage clothing holding fashion hostage, I say we introduce the throwback swimsuit. We should all start wearing those huge wool bloomers-and-a-tank-top numbers with the red horizontal stripes. This way, we’d all be dressed the same and the pressures of swimsuit season would slowly drift away. Of course, since we have the luxury of living in Oberlin, there’s always skinny-dipping in the reservoir. Ah, I love this town.