
Tan lines are back in fashion. But can you get the look safely?
Back in the 90s, I remember the abject horror of having tan lines on display and doing all I could to even mine out - with limited success. Fast forward to the mid 2020s and tan lines have become a fashion statement to be shown off."When they were out of style they were seen as an imperfection, now they're associated with the summer and an active lifestyle - they've become desirable," Jemma says. "This year it's risen to a whole other level - they're even on the catwalk."Some fake tanners are even using masking tape - the type I use on my skirting boards - to create that crisp line across their skin."My videos are about getting that tan line safely," Jemma says. "I feel pretty captivating, the look is eye-catching - especially the contrast between the darker skin and the white tan lines."Jemma is one of thousands extolling the virtues of tan lines, with posts notching up more than 200m views on TikTok.But alongside fake tanners like Jemma, there are just as many heading outdoors and under the hot sun, determined to create real tan lines - even if that means burning themselves and suffering the painful consequences.Hashtags such as #sunburntanlines, #sunpoisoning and #sunstroke are popping up alongside videos of young men and women - some in tears - revealing deep red, almost purple, often puckered skin. Some are asking for help and advice, others actually want to show off their badly sunburned bodies. I've even seen one young woman proudly stating, "No pain no gain".
Having a visible tan in Victorian times was a clear sign you were poor working class and probably spent most of your time hawking barrels of hay for very little recompense.By the 1920s, a few freckles and a well-placed tan line would probably mean you had moved up a social class or two, and suggested health, wealth and luxurious holidays.By the 1960s and 70s sun lovers were using cooking oil and reflective blankets to deepen their tans. But the links between ultraviolet (UV) radiation and skin cancer were becoming more widely known - and indisputable.So marked the beginning of a complex relationship with the desire to change our skin colour - and while tans are still sought after by millions of us, there is now little doubt a natural one carries with it a hefty element of risk.
If someone had lectured Jak Howells about the risks of sunburn a few years ago those warnings would likely have fallen on deaf - and probably sunburnt - ears."I know it seems strange to be addicted to lying on a sunbed," the 26-year-old from Swansea says, "but I was."It began when Jak was 15, with a few of his older mates in school using them. By the time he was 19 Jak was on sunbeds five times a week, for 18-20 minutes at a time."My skin was so burned - my face looked like a beetroot. But I kept on going back for more," he says. "I knew in the back of my mind that there was a risk - I wasn't oblivious - but I didn't take it seriously.Jak says he used to enjoy when people complimented him on how he looked and remarked on his tan."It gave me such a buzz, I loved it," he says.But it was seeing the look of horror on his mum's face, as she examined a bleeding mole on his back, that made Jak realise his love of sunbeds had gone too far.
Just before Christmas 2021, Jak was diagnosed with melanoma, one of the most dangerous types of skin cancer, which can spread to other parts of the body.What followed, he says, were two years of "hell and horror". Jak had a complicated operation that involved surgeons cutting away two inches of skin from his lower back, chest and groin. But three months later the cancer was back. Jak then had immunotherapy - which uses the body's own immune system to fight the cancer - and was told if that didn't work, he had only a year to live."The sickness was horrific - I would lie in bed for days," Jak says. "It felt like I had been hit by a bus. I had such a damaged body, I was a shell of a human. I lived for the next scan, the next treatment."
'Massive backwards step'
Melanoma skin cancer rates in the UK have increased by almost a third over the past decade. I asked Megan Fisher from Cancer Research UK why this is happening in an era where the risks posed by harmful rays from the sun and the links to skin cancer are now well known."It's partly down to those people who may have burnt several decades ago," she explains. "You only need to get sunburnt once every two years to triple your risk of getting skin cancer."As a population, we are growing older, so are "more likely to see more cancers" and "we are spotting them more quickly", she adds.However, there are also concerns part of the increase could be down to the volume of misinformation doing the rounds online."We've taken a massive backwards step," says Dr Kate McCann, a preventative health specialist. "The message that the sun is good and sunscreen causes cancer is a complete loss of health literacy."
She says the current trend to create tan lines by burning in the sun, coupled with false claims that suntan lotion is responsible for the very cancer it's trying to prevent is a "perfect storm"."If I see a child or a young person with sunburn now, I know they have an increased risk of cancer in 20 or 30 years."While there are some ingredients in suntan lotions - like oxybenzone - that can cause environmental damage to coral reefs, there is not evidence to suggest it poses a risk to humans, Dr McCann says."If you don't want to use a suntan lotion with certain chemicals there are plenty of more natural ones on the market - zinc and mineral based ones - but you can't just stop wearing sunscreen."
As a young man Jak relished his tan lines. Now he says he's frightened by the sun and lathers himself up in SPF before even thinking about stepping outdoors.Given the all clear from cancer in December 2022, he now has a career he loves making content and talking about his experiences to raise awareness.Looking back he says he realises what happened to him was "probably self inflicted". "For a long time I blamed myself and I beat myself up about it," he says. "But I have been lucky enough to live through the consequences - and they were horrendous. So maybe now I feel like I've done my time."Back on TikTok, in her own way, beauty influencer and fake tanner Jemma is also trying to prevent others from going through what Jak did."Skin damage is real," she says. "We're not doing that."
A list of organisations in the UK offering support and information with some of the issues in this story is available at BBC Action Line
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The Guardian
4 minutes ago
- The Guardian
A new start after 60: I became a dancer at 68 – and will perform my first solo show at 82
At 82, Christine Thynne is an emerging artist. 'Risk! There's a colossal amount of risk,' Thynne says. She is about to perform her show, These Mechanisms, over three weeks at the Edinburgh fringe. While 'emerging' isn't a word often applied to artists in their 80s, Thynne says the description is appropriate. 'I wasn't there before,' she says. 'I wasn't a solo performer.' Thynne's show melds aspects of her life – she trained as a physiotherapist in the 1960s – along with other passions. Among her props are planks, stepladders and water. 'Things I shouldn't be doing,' she says. 'Moving scaffolding planks. Changing the shape of stepladders. Carrying water.' She enjoys sea kayaking, having progressed from being coached to paddling the Lofoten islands in Norway, in her 50s. 'Sliding up a wave, going down the other side – it was so exciting,' she says. But when she was browsing the Grassmarket area of Edinburgh, Scotland, where she lives, and saw a brochure for a class in Dance Base, Scotland's national centre for dance, she balked. The class was free for the over-60s, and Thynne was 68. 'I thought: 'Dare I?'' For many people, kayaking in open water would be scarier than joining a dance class, but 'in life', Thynne says, 'there are occasions when you can lose your self-confidence. You can lose your identity. I was very nervous, wondering could I do it, would I be good enough?' She had done a bit of ballet and tap growing up in the north-east of England, and loved sport. Not to compete, but because she 'loved the way the body moved'. At 16, she wrote to the chartered society of physiotherapists, and did a course on day release while working locally at Imperial Chemical Industries. 'I still love the way the body moves,' she says, 'How you can feel the tension in a muscle – is it the right place you're feeling? Which muscles are weak? Which joints are affected? And how even with simple exercise, you can make people feel much better.' After a divorce in the mid-1980s, she embarked on a second career, teaching movement and music, and anatomy and massage to therapists, while raising two teenage sons. She has loved the outdoors since her mum, who was a professional musician, took Thynne and her two sisters 'out into the fresh air, to have this love of the countryside, to go brambling, to walk. She gave that to us.' Thynne, similarly, is 'somebody who pushes myself, takes opportunities, takes a risk,' she says. 'I'm obviously prepared to go on trying and doing, [asking] can I do this? And then being surprised that yes, I can.' When she went to her first dance session, it was 'won-der-ful!' she says, singing the word. 'I realised that somebody was teaching me what to do, and there was music playing and I could let go and I felt that joy of my body moving, coming through me.' She progressed to Prime, Dance Base's semi-professional company for over-60s. After that came funding from Luminate, Dance Base, Creative Scotland and Made in Scotland. For These Mechanisms, she has collaborated with the choreographer Robbie Synge. 'It's almost as if I'm having another career.' Along the way, she has learned 'to listen … to find out more about myself, my capabilities. How to put my point of view forward, to be part of a team.' She hopes to tour the show overseas. In the meantime, she keeps fit. 'Each morning, I hang for two or three minutes, take my body weight, then I turn around and hang the other way. Then I do some gentle stretching.' And, of course, she dances. All the time. 'I probably dance if I am going from the fridge to the cooker, taking some dishes,' she says, swirling her hands in the air. 'Isn't that what dance is? You just have to let go and explore it.' These Mechanisms isn't exactly autobiographical, but it 'tells a story of persistence, of joy, of risk', which sounds like Thynne. 'You could do this in your 20s, you could do it in your 80s,' she says. 'It's about the limits of the human body and the desire to make things happen.' These Mechanisms runs until 20 August at DB3 as part of Dance Base's fringe programme, delivered in partnership with Assembly festival Tell us: has your life taken a new direction after the age of 60?


BBC News
7 minutes ago
- BBC News
Live from the harvest: the farmers streaming on social media
Scroll through social media and you will see multiple accounts where farmers are turning their talents to are angry, campaigning against government policies, or informative, keen to show followers the impact of climate change on their daily many say they just want to show people the reality of their trade. High on the Marlborough Downs, Mike Wilkins was testing his winter barley when I met him, breaking off their ears and grinding them in a small machine to see how dry the grain he worked, he explained everything to his phone camera, set up on the bonnet of his dusty farm truck."Now the moment of truth," he smiled to the camera, with a touch of drama."We need under 15% and... (pause for effect)... it's 13.9!"So that's fantastic, we can go harvesting!"Cue music, and a fast cut sequence of aerial shots of the combine, cutting through the barley. This, he explained, was Episode 19 of "What we've been up to on the farm", a series of 90 second short films, covering everything from haymaking and barley planting, to piglets, goats and the farm Wilkins is unusually natural on camera, happily introducing an episode while bottle-feeding two lambs. But then, he was a contestant on the Great British Bake Off, so he's not your typical his intent is the same as the thousands of farmers who now stream their farming lives on social media. "People are so interested now in where their food comes from," Mr Wilkins explained. "So it's nice for them to have something direct from the farmer's mouth, literally. What we're doing and how and why we're doing it."Scrolling through TikTok, Instagram, YouTube and the other platforms, I found hundreds of farmers having a go. There are videos of tractors in Westminster, protesting the government's changes to farm grants and taxes and plenty of dramatic shots of fields on fire, dried out by the record dry Mr Wilkins tends to avoid the thornier issues on his feed."All of those things are really important," he said, "but what we do every day matters too."I think people think farmers complain all the time, but actually we farm because we love it, and I genuinely love every single day."It's nice to be able to get across that passion and the positivity about all the great things we're doing too." Down on the Mendip hills in Somerset, Farmer Dom Northmore was driving his tractor when I met him and topping out some overgrown weeds on a pasture, like generations of farmers have done before him in a new twist, one of the farmhands was launching a drone, to film it all"People love the drone," said Chloe Burke."We like to get the drone out, see what it's looking like from the sky, and then we can, like, post it on our social media."Miss Burke has casually become the social media manager for Lane End Farm. Owners Dom and Rachel Northmore had actually tried hiring a professional firm, from Bristol."It didn't really work," Mrs Northmore explained. "They just didn't get it, it wasn't authentic."Miss Burke already worked on the farm every day, driving the tractor, haymaking, helping with the horses, sheep, ducks and goats and as a typical 25-year-old, she was posting films on her own Northmore realised they were much more authentic, so now they make all the videos together as they go along. "I don't really have a plan, If I see something fun, I just film it," said Miss said haymaking videos have done well for them this year, reaching thousands of people as many farmers bemoaned the low yields and the long, dry spring. Mr Northmore agreed that their fields have produced less hay too, but the films are just a celebration of the craft."We got some really good ones of raking up and baling," Miss Burke said."Everyone really liked the videos of stacking the bales and bringing them in, that was the favourite, a big hit."They mainly post on TikTok, where the vibe is very much short fun-packed videos, rather than lengthy explanations of farming the fun, Mr Northmore hopes there is a serious benefit as said: "It's hard to get on to a farm these days, and with social media thousands of people can see it all, and it's a great way to feel a bit more connected." In the same spirit, the BBC's Farmwatch project will be dipping into countless farms across the country, on Thursday August 7. On a farm near Malmesbury in Wiltshire, Robin Aird is preparing to have his combine harvester streamed live across the country as he cuts his Aird agreed to have BBC cameras fixed to his combine as he gathers in this year's harvest."We hope to show people just what harvest involves, and they'll be able to ask us questions live in the cab too, which will be fun," he part of a BBC project called Farmwatch, when for 24 hours journalists across Britain will shine a light on Aird's combine harvester will, weather willing, be harvesting all day, live on the website. Reporters will be sharing their days on local radio and BBC Sounds, and there are even some job swaps with farmer Mike Wilkins as one of the presenters on a special evening show on BBC Local Radio.


BBC News
37 minutes ago
- BBC News
Toy Museum at Penshurst Place and Gardens reopens
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