Perhaps no line is as suggestive or fraught with danger as the tan line. To glimpse the porcelain buttock of an otherwise tanned body is to spy an intimate area untouched by sun. Tan lines, like lifelines to a palm reader, reveal much about he who wears them. Does he prefer chaste board shorts or revealing Speedos? Or worse: Do his thighs bear the iced-latte gradations of a bathing suit switcher? Just as nothing is as lust-inducing as an August tan line, nothing is as repellent as the stuttering line of a fickle style whore. A tan line is summer's palimpsest, and some of the best summer reading.
