We sat in the lobby of a swank apartment complex deep into an analysis of a radical Polish vegetarian murder mystery. The glam high rise came with a pool deck full of regulation hotties.

Our book club faced the hottie pool during the discussion of lighthearted romp "Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead." Between bites of cream cheese and red pepper jelly, we glimpsed a breathtaking vision beyond the glass: The philosophically nonexistent bathing suits of 2023.

One member stared out. Without breaking her gaze, she lifted a broken pita chip to the chesty area where a swimsuit top, in theory, would go.

I mean, good for those women in the chip suits, OK? I sit in admiration and awe. No body shaming, no value judgments, go on with your bad self, be free, et cetera. Still, with spring break around the corner, the phenomenon of disappearing swimwear requires analysis in the same manner as ecofeminist lit.

It's not like miniscule bathing suits are new. Please don't send photos of 1980s thongs; I've seen "Weekend at Bernie's." But in an encouraging step for thin-obsessed mankind, swimwear has become more democratized in the 2020s, marketed and supplied to a wider swath of body shapes. Size inclusivity pays off at the till because, shocker, larger humans also like to swim and look cute.

This beach season's trendiest looks are a feat of engineering, a spiritual challenge for those who want to keep external organs contained. Sports Illustrated summed up runway activity at the latest Miami Swim Week as "microstrappy," and, well, skimpy: "thongs, extreme cutouts, micro tops, underboob cutouts, invisible sides." "Underboob," a phrase last uttered by a stern lady with measuring tape at Victoria's Secret, is now an aesthetic goal for... some people.

This includes Kim Kardashian, seen posing from a variety of up-angles in the promos for her intimates and swimwear line, Skims. As usual, she outdid everyone by creating a micro thong and top up to size 4X. They went viral on TikTok for providing coverage the size of... yes, tortilla chips. Actually, the set appears to be underwear used as swimsuits, but considering this void of textile, what's the diff?

Teeny bikinis may be part of society's pandemic pendulum swing; remember the predicted Vibe Shift? Meanwhile, Americans are courting an onslaught of retrograde moral panic stoked by power-hungry politicians. My state of Florida, land of swimwear, leads the way in the crackdown on expression. Florida's government is the Ikea Smaland manager telling children not to jump in the ball pit. No fun! No variety! The micro bikini, one could argue, is this millennium's answer to hot pants and miniskirts, a middle finger to didactic manatees.

That said, the pressure. Swimwear trends carry supreme social stress, something women are steeped in every waking second. Make sure your body stays toned, curvy, free of bumps and hair, but don't be shy to show it off! All butts about it!

Where do chip tops leave the proverbial book club? For example, what if your first two-piece bathing suit had full-coverage, high-waisted shorts and a sports halter as high as an Edwardian ruff? What if you are so pale you would catch fire in Skims dental floss? I DON'T KNOW ANYONE LIKE THIS, I AM JUST SPITBALLING.

Or what if, in the words of New York Times writer Jessica Grose, you exist in "the hour between babe and hag." Meaning, you're fleetingly neither too young nor old, enjoying the years when Don Lemon will take you seriously. In this case, swimwear is a tricky dance, and the style options are not glorious. A character in the FX miniseries "Fleishman is in Trouble" nails the Spandex limbo, trudging past pool moms all wearing the same tired tankini. They have given up ab cutouts and underboob, and thusly, given up something unsaid.

It's tempting to get mired in glossy photos, think pieces, TikToks and online shopping, and checking in on reality is vital. So, I popped into Grove Surf & Coffee, a precious store on St. Pete Beach that sells both divine strawberry matcha lattes and trendy swimwear. Many of the bathing suits, adorable indeed, were the size of youth Band-Aids.

Since I was by the beach, I wandered over. Yes, hotties in loincloths existed, but so did teens in bucket hats and rash guards, retirees in ruffled swim skirts, moms in shorts wrangling strollers, unbothered bohemians wrapped in sea turtle beach towels. People of all shapes, sizes and colors soaked in the sun, dug into the sand and trudged to the car. And no one cared. No one ever cares more than we do inside our own heads.

When it's my turn to host book club, we're going to the beach. I'll bring the chips, but we're eating them.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: sasint at Pixabay