Ocean swimming has always involved a quiet negotiation with uncertainty.
Usually, it happens without words.
There’s a shift in the air.
You feel it before you even get in—
on the sand, mid-conversation, half-zipped into your suit.
This morning, it was the shark alarm.
Phones came out instantly. Heads turned toward the water. Everyone standing at Manly for the Sunday swim asking the same question in slightly different ways:
But the question's swimmer ask each other always make me laugh?
Are we still going in?
Should we stay close?
Should we walk to Shelly instead?
Was it a false alarm?
Has anyone actually seen anything?
And for a few minutes, nobody really knows.
Just clusters of swimmers in caps and wetsuits, negotiating risk the way ocean swimmers always do—casually on the surface, seriously underneath.
It wasn’t until the announcement came through that the beach was officially closed that the decision was made for us.
No swim today.
We thought the shark habitat of January was over.
Obviously not gone completely.
But. Just quieter, now that the water is cooler.
The headlines had faded.
People had stopped talking about sightings before every swim.
The nervous jokes on the shoreline disappeared and the rhythm of ocean swimming settled back into normality.
Until this morning.
And with that, a familiar detail has returned to the ritual:
A small band, strapped at the ankle or wrist.
Quiet. Unassuming.
Loaded with expectation. How many in your swim group have adopted one?
Ocean swimming has always been about preparation.
Zipping into neoprene.
Checking the weather.
Goggles antifogged.
Now, for some, it includes one more step—
clip on the band.
It doesn’t disrupt the rhythm.
If anything, it becomes part of it.
A gesture that says: I’m aware. I’m ready.
But beneath that—there’s a question everyone is circling:
Is it doing anything at all?
The idea of protection.
The promise is simple.
These band are magnetic and designed to interfere with a shark’s senses.
To create a signal. A discomfort. A reason to turn away.
It’s a compelling idea.
Invisible protection. Effortless safety.
But the reality is less polished.
Most research points to minimal impact—especially with the smaller, wearable versions.
If a shark is close enough to notice it, it’s already close.
The kind of reassurance they offer isn’t physical.
It’s psychological.
And maybe that’s the point
Because the ocean has never been something you can fully control.
That’s part of its pull.
You step into it knowing exactly that—
that it’s bigger, deeper, older than you.
This morning felt like a reminder of that.
The conversations on the shoreline.
The hesitation.
The collective decision-making.
The strange balance between instinct and routine.
The band doesn’t change any of it.
But it softens the edge.
Takes the noise of the headlines and quiets it, just enough.
And for many swimmers, that’s enough to keep showing up.
What we come back to
Style has always lived alongside function in the water.
A well-cut suit that shapes and supports.
A zip that slides into place without thinking.
Details that make you feel—subtly, quietly—more like yourself. But above all, the extra layer of warmth,
Confidence isn’t always about performance.
Sometimes it’s about presence.
The way you enter the water.
The way you hold your line.
The way you stay just a little longer.
So—do they work?
Not in the way people hope.
But they’re not entirely pointless either.
They’re part of a broader instinct—
to prepare, to adapt, to keep swimming anyway.
We at The Swim Set think about the ocean the same way we think about design:
Respect first. Always.
Then intention.
Then feeling.
Wear the band, or don’t.
Swim wide, or stay close.
Watch the water. Swim with a group.
And sometimes, listen when the beach tells you no.
But above all—keep the ritual.
Because what draws us in isn’t certainty.
It’s the opposite.