Finally, after what feels like years of leopard-print fashion, a new leader has arrived, and it's coming for your swimsuit drawer. On Wednesday, following the release of Dua Lipa’s “Love Again” music video, for which she wore a zebra-print bikini, global fashion shopping platform Lyst reported a 15% increase in search for zebra-print pieces. Search for Lipa’s string bikini Attico top, which was recently also worn by Hailey Bieber, was up 224% since the beginning of the month.
In our experience, spikes like that can only mean one thing: Zebra-print bikinis are about to be everywhere. Faithfull The Brand, ViX, Reina Olga, and more Instagram-favorite swimwear labels are already stocking their virtual shelves with black-and-white-stripe bikinis of all styles, shapes, and cuts. Mint Swim, Montce, and Lisa Marie Fernandez, too, are hopping on board the trend.
In order to allow you to do the same, we rounded up 12 zebra-print bikinis like Lipa’s for you to shop, ahead.
At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.
ViX Fiorella Embellished Zebra-Print Triangle Bikini Top, $, available at Net-A-Porter
ViX Fiorella Embellished Zebra-Print Bikini Briefs, $, available at Net-A-Porter
Cacique Underwire Plunge Keyhole Swim Bikini Top, $, available at Cacique
Sarai Thompson has been donning the yellow, green, and black Jamaican flag ever since she was a little girl. Her parents — both Jamaican immigrants who moved to New York City before she was born — instilled in her a feeling of pride that shone through in her clothing choices.
“Fashion is a way of expressing myself, so I like to make my culture a part of that,” the now-27-year-old says. Thompson still finds herself reaching for Jamaican flag crochet tops and T-shirts, pairing them with high-waisted jeans and platform shoes.
Flag fashion is often seen as an accessory to athletic events and patriotic holidays. Think: American-flag bikinis that come out for July 4th parties or Brazilian flag T-shirts during the FIFA World Cup. “It’s easy to be lured into the false belief that flags are just innocent representations of our countries of origin or our nationality,” says Sabrina Strings, an Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of California, Irvine. But for some immigrant and BIPOC communities, wearing their flag on their sleeve — or chest, or back — can be a powerful political statement.
Take, for instance, Ever Lopez, a Mexican-American teen living in North Carolina who was initially denied his high school diploma this June after donning the Mexican flag over his gown at his graduation from Asheboro High School. According to the school’s statement, Lopez’s flag violated the school’s dress code. Only after a flood of activists and classmates rallied for the student and circulated a Change.org petition did the school award his diploma.
A country’s national identity is held together by its symbols and values, belief systems that are expressed in flags and anthems, says Julimar Mora, a researcher at the PontifÃcia Universidade Católica do Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. During times when those belief systems are challenged, these symbols become flash-points for political discourse.
Take the symbolism of wearing the American flag, which is supposed to represent the 50 states of the union. Especially since former President Trump won the White House in 2016, it has become associated with right-leaning groups that espouse anti-immigrant, racist sentiments. This message came to undeniably sharp focus when MAGA supporters stormed the capitol in January 2021, many of them parading American flags to support their untrue belief that the election was stolen from “real Americans.”
“Even though it claims to represent freedom, it doesn’t represent freedom for many individuals,” says Strings. “For people of color, the [American] flag represents something more insidious.”
She argues that the American flag also represents “Indian removal, pushing Latinx people out of border towns, and the death of Black bodies,” and that people wearing it should acknowledge that history, as well as the recent uptick in right-wing use of the American flag. As a result, many communities in the U.S. turn to their own group’s flags, including the Afro-American flag, Native American flags, and LGBTQ+ flags.
As a child, Thompson donned the Jamaican colors on Flag Day, which takes place annually on June 14. While most of her Bible school classmates dressed up in red, white, and blue, she and her siblings dressed in green, black, and white. “I had to explain to all the other kids, like ‘I’m Jamaican and my parents are from Jamaica.’ And then they’d ask, ‘But you live in America?’” she recalls. “It was my first time explaining this other part of me.”
A parade-goer marches with a giant Puerto Rican flag during the 62nd annual Puerto Rican Day Parade on June 9, 2019 in New York, NY. The parade celebrates New York Citys Puerto Rican residents- which make up about 9% of the citys entire population, the largest in Americas major cities. (Photo by Erin Lefevre/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
“You’re always going to be put in a certain category of an individual who doesn’t belong as a person of color, especially if you’re waving a flag that is not from the United States,” says Strings.
Although Puerto Ricans have been American citizens since 1918, the island — an unincorporated territory of the United States — continues to use both the U.S. and Puerto Rican flags in all official institutions and ceremonies. But to the diaspora, the Puerto Rican flag is a symbol of resistance.
In May 1948, a gag law passed in the Puerto Rican Senate made displaying the Puerto Rican flag and singing the anthem, “La Borinqueña,” punishable with up to 10 years in prison because of its ties to pro-independence groups (the law was repealed nine years later). Today, the flag design is seen on everything from keychains and beer openers to leather jackets, T-shirts, bikinis, and duvet covers, sparking memes that show Puerto Ricans donning the flag and asking: “How did you know I was Puerto Rican?”
“When power imbalances are visible, this unchains an instinct to emphasize cultural identity,” Mora says, explaining why the flag design is so popular among Puerto Ricans in the mainland United States today.
Atlyn Forde, a marketing executive and flag activist based in the United Kingdom, has donned clothing featuring the flags of St. Lucia and Jamaica since she was a child. For her, they are conversation pieces that allow her to connect to other immigrants from the Caribbean, or educate European people about her home islands’ histories. But whenever she’d spot products bearing the St. Lucian or Jamaican flags, Forde says the items were not well-designed and often made with low-quality fabrics.
So, in 2020, she launched Culture Club UK to sell trend-forward Caribbean and African flag fashion, such as sliders, tees, fanny packs, and tote bags. “It’s really about a celebration of culture, of being empowered to showcase what they love about their culture so much,” she says.
She is not alone. In fact, there has been a boom in fashion brands adopting cultural heritage as their main driver, especially in the United States. Designer Patty Delgado’s Hija De Tu Madre, for example, is a Latinx-owned, California-based brand selling a jean jacket with flags from Latin America and the Caribbean, empowering its customers to “take your motherland’s flag everywhere,” according to the brand’s website.
While flags are institutional symbols, Mora says that it’s crucial to understand they are part of people’s identities. “People have determined agency and can use these symbols to promote their own political projects,” she says. “In the end, identity is constructed by the people and for the people.”
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Y2K fashion is back. From whale tails and trucker hats to platform flip-flops and bedazzled Bebe tops, every kitschy trend from the early aughts is making its way out of the archives and onto TikTok. But while some resurrected looks have received a warm welcome — who doesn’t love a baby tee? — others are setting off alarms and adamant nopes. Case in point: the return of the low-rise jean.
It started with models like Emily Ratajkowski and Bella Hadid, whose wardrobes this year have become time-travel machines to Y2K, be it via low-rise Von Dutch cargo pants or colorful candy rings. Then Game of Thrones actress Sophie Turner wore a pair of low-rise baggy jeans, which she paired with another ’00s relic — a going-out top — for date night with Joe Jonas. Pretty soon, the silhouette was making the rounds on TikTok, where the tag #LowRiseJeans has over 43.6 million views.
Still, many hoped the murmurings of a low-rise jean reunion tour would not prove prophetic. According to Stephanie Valponi, a stylist at Stitch Fix, that isn’t the case, though. “We’ve heard rumors over the last few years that low-rise jeans would be making an inevitable comeback, but now, it’s safe to say these are rumors no more,” Valponi tells Refinery29.
And there’s data to prove it. In May, thredUP, an online consignment and thrift store, reported a 50% increase in search for low-rise jeans, compared to the time frame between January and March of 2021. “Love it or hate it, there’s no denying that more people are trying out low-rise denim again,” Kesha Linger, a merchandiser at the online retailer, tells Refinery29.
Even so, many women who can recall the last heyday of low-rise jeans — when zippers regularly measured under three inches and necessitated embracing a peek-a-boo G-string (thus the whale tail trend) or spending a majority of the time hiking jeans up — aren’t excited. “I was in college in the early ‘00s, and I think I still have PTSD from my low-rise Juicy Couture sweats and my two-inch-zipper Diesel and Chip & Pepper jeans,” Pauline Montupet, 39, the founder of San Francisco-based clothing shop Le Point, tells Refinery29. “There was a constant feeling of being too big for low-rise pants,” she explains, adding that her stomach was never flat enough or her hip bones prominent enough, in comparison to celebrities (Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Mischa Barton, etc.) who would frequently wear the trend on the red carpet and at parties. “Only very thin people didn’t have a muffin top while wearing super low-rise jeans, so I constantly felt that I was in a losing battle between my body and low-rise denim.”
There’s an excerpt of Everybody (Else) in @InStyle! It’s about low-rise jeans, what we teach girls about their bodies, and trying to find your gay self amidst Bush-era politics and a hyper-sexualized pop culture that doesn’t really leave room you. https://t.co/xPAdkEoxjF
Others, like Rachel Jones, 33, the founder of underwear brand Jonesy, are happy to give the once-shunned silhouette another whirl. Despite her initial shock at finding out that the denim style was having a resurgence — “my hips haven’t seen the light of day since 2004,” she tells Refinery29 — Jones says she now sees the 2021 version of low-rise jeans “fresh and exciting,” compared to the rotation of high-waisted pants she’s been wearing for a near-decade. Today’s low-rise jeans have evolved, and don’t feature ultra-tight fits, barely-there zippers, or thong-baring backsides like they once did. Instead, the trend is mostly made up of baggier jeans and trousers that naturally sit low on the waist — no tugging, sucking in, or awkward pretzeling of limbs required.
In fact, it was right after giving birth that Jones says she started eyeing denim with a lower rise. “My body was still changing, and I was drawn to a more undone look,” she says. “I didn’t want pants or jeans to suck me in. I wanted something low and loose, and a pair of vintage low-rise jeans from Etsy scratched that itch for me.”
This renaissance of low-rise jeans has yet to be picked up by a bevy of brands, but a select few have become frontrunners, creating a more comfortable version of the denim we love to hate. Los Angeles-based brand Miaou, which was founded as a denim brand but has since become known for its patterned corsets, is currently carrying baggier cargos and ‘00s-inspired low-rise styles. Ragged Priest, which makes “regular jeans for irregular people,” according to its website, is also dabbling in the throwback silhouette, as is Miss Sixty, the favored denim brand of celebrities in the aughts that has been making a comeback recently.
Martin concedes that the low-rise jeans of the past had their problems and hopes that with this second wave of popularity, brands will rework the style to better fit a larger range of women. “I’m eager to see how retailers will make them more modern and flattering for different body types,” she says.
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