In 1919, New York City created a new kind of beach patrol. Twenty women, called “Sheriffettes,” were sworn in to monitor what other women wore to Rockaway Beach.
They walked the sand with a single task: to examine the straps, measure the hemlines, and monitor every inch of exposed skin. If a swimsuit revealed the shoulders or crept too far above the knees, the woman wearing it could be stopped, warned, or told to leave the beach altogether.
That same year, a woman walking near Ocean Parkway with her husband was stopped by an officer. She wore a skirt and sweater over her bathing suit. In court, the officer admitted to looking under her skirt to inspect her clothing. The judge dismissed the case and warned him against such conduct.
By 1921, cities across the country were passing new swimwear laws. In Atlantic City, a woman was arrested for rolling her stockings below her knees. She refused to pull them up. When the officer tried to arrest her, she punched him in the face.
On Oahu, lawmakers passed a rule that anyone over 14 had to wear something over a swimsuit that reached at least to the knees. Towels and raincoats became beach essentials for women trying to follow the law.
Across states, the rules shared the same shape. Words like “modest” and “proper” showed up in every ordinance, but the meaning depended on the officer, the city, or the mood of the day. The standards kept shifting, but the scrutiny stayed fixed on women.
When the Sand Became a Courtroom
In Atlantic City, police brought yardsticks to the beach and checked that swimsuits ended at least four inches below the knee. They moved through crowds, measuring women in plain sight as others watched.
Newspapers framed the inspections as acts of public service, running headlines about a “war on indecency” while printing the names of women who had been removed from the beach. Officers posed with their measuring tools for photographers, and while some cities limited the response to citations, others relied on physical removal to enforce the rules.
But women pushed back.
Some women wrapped themselves in raincoats or towels until officers moved on, slipping them off before entering the water, while others subtly altered their suits to meet the day’s inspection. A few, like the woman in Atlantic City who punched an officer during her arrest, took a louder stand, but most forms of resistance remained small, strategic, and quiet.
By the mid-1920s, many beaches replaced tape measures with posted signs at entrances, listing what counted as acceptable swimwear and leaving visitors to scan their outfits against printed rules. Though inspections grew less direct, the judgment stayed in place, only shifting from action to atmosphere.
Terms like “improper” and “unsuitable” gave officers wide discretion, which often translated into stricter enforcement against Black women, immigrants, and the working class, revealing that the rules targeted presence more than propriety.
This 1930s boardwalk sign banned everything from bathing suits to sitting on railings. Public decency rules were strict, and police enforced them literally. Seen in slide 4 of the Instagram post. Image via Instagram.
Stitch by Stitch, the Rules Came Undone
In the late 1920s, swimsuit designers advanced without waiting for laws to catch up, with brands like Jantzen releasing practical jersey-knit suits that fit closely and eliminated excess fabric. These designs prioritized comfort and movement, reflecting the needs of a growing number of active women rather than trying to make a statement.
Magazines helped shift the narrative, with Vogue and Photoplay featuring swimwear as modern, sleek, and suited for motion, showing athletes in action and models at ease. As more women joined swim clubs and took part in public sports, the suits adapted to their routines, and after experiencing that freedom, few returned to the heavy wool skirts of earlier years.
Judges began siding with the women, with some questioning why courts were being used to enforce swimsuit measurements while more urgent matters waited. As more charges were dismissed and warnings went unheeded, arrests declined and enforcement lost momentum.
Cities that had once punished swimwear turned to promotion instead, building public pools and encouraging summer crowds, while places like Miami Beach relaxed restrictions to attract visitors. The same women once fined for bare knees were now part of swim shows and competitions.
The measuring tape disappeared from beaches, but the control it symbolized found new ground. It reappeared in school dress codes, workplace policies on skirt lengths, and headlines that continued to dissect what women chose to wear in public.
The war on bathing suits faded without a formal ending, replaced by a quiet shift in what rules could still hold power. What women wore carried meaning beyond fabric; it was measured, judged, and used to define their place in public life.
