10 Nude Beach Mistakes You DO NOT Want to Make

We all make mistakes, that’s what makes us human. Sometimes, they can become a source of great stories for family gatherings. Except when they happened when you were naked, in the wrong place, and with an angry crowd chasing you.

Most of the mistakes below are real-life examples, but only a few happened to us personally. Some of these we actually shared at the family dinner table, but we have quite open-minded families.

If your idea of a great story also includes naked mobs, burned butts, and awkward moments, we’d say try some of these out. Success is pretty much guaranteed.

You walked the trail, saw the sand, and there they were… the bathing suits. Just the other day, you had read our blog post about the importance of protecting our nude beaches from mass tourism, and you had taken our advice to heart: Just claim what’s already ours.

Shirt goes off, pants go down, and you ignore the stares from the families around you. This is YOUR nude beach. But from the corner of your eye, you see trouble. A lifeguard is running in your direction, and you start preparing a speech about how naturists are being discriminated against on their own beaches and how you’re not going to have any of that.

The lifeguard finally arrives and, while shouting some French words in your direction, he points towards a sign in the far distance. You pick up your glasses, squint your eyes, and there it is… The sign indicating the start of the nude beach.

You did everything right. You covered shoulders, arms, chest, and even the tops of your feet. You twisted and turned to get your back, and for a moment, you felt like a naturist ninja. That expensive bottle of sunscreen must be half empty by now, but you don’t care. Confident and sun-ready, you flopped onto your towel and started soaking up the sunshine.

A few hours later, you stood up. And that’s when it hit you. A sudden, sharp sting somewhere near the equator. Yep, you forgot the crack. The one spot that never sees the light of day just saw all of it. Now it has a shade of red that could bring a lobster to tears. Sitting down feels like something from the past. Something people used to do, before The Incident.

You had planned for this moment. Read the articles, packed the bag, psyched yourself up in the mirror with a “You’ve got this.” This solo trip to a nude beach will be empowering, freeing, and give you a really nice tan. Except now that you’re actually here, your confidence is hiding somewhere under a pile of nerves. The idea of going full monty suddenly feels a bit too real.

But then you remember what you’ve read: It’s okay to take it slow. One piece at a time. No pressure. Reassured, you peel off your dress… only to realise what’s underneath. A simple bikini was not part of the plan, so you accidentally picked the “date night” set. The one that says “romance novel cover shoot.”

Eventually, this was your luck because now there was no other way than going all nude as quickly as possible. But if you don’t want to skip a few steps, do think about what you’re wearing. Even when going to the nude beach.

This summer has not been good for your body. Maybe it was the many barbecues, maybe it was the beers and cocktails, or maybe it’s just age catching up with you. The good news is that at a nude beach, nobody cares about how you look, right? Well, nobody except for one person.

You barely placed yourself on a towel when a group of twenty-somethings arrived. They pick a spot a few meters away and start undressing. Those guys look as if they just ran away from a fitness commercial, with stomachs that look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo himself. The girls look in your direction, you take a deep breath, and hold it.

You walked towards the sea slowly, arms stiff, pretending to stretch while trying to look “natural”. You know that once you’re in the sea, you can exhale again. But this is one of those Dutch beaches that takes five and a half minutes before you reach the water. For days, laughing hurt like hell, and when your nephews won’t stop tickling you, you realise that this wasn’t the right story to tell at the family dinner table.

You learned your lesson, cut down on the alcohol, subscribed to the gym, and yes, you’re not too proud to admit that you got an Ozempic cure as well. Maybe two. But it worked, the dad bod is history.

Towel slung over the shoulder, sunglasses locked in, and with confidence turned up to eleven, you arrive at the nude beach and assume “The Stance”. Legs wide. Hands on hips. Chin up. Everything facing the sun like you are waiting to be saluted. The Nude Dude Power Pose that says, “I have conquered this beach, and also possibly the ancient Roman Empire as well”.

You feel a few eyes upon you and raise your chin even higher. Then you turn your head to meet their eyes full of awe. Or is that disgust that you’re seeing? Are the frowns part of the deal? You notice that nobody else is standing and start feeling awkward. That’s when you realise that the only person on the nude beach who cares about how you look is… You.

There are a few things typical of Mexicans. A great taste in food, a horrible taste in booze (unless you want to get really drunk really quickly), and an appetite for music on the beach. Literally every Mexican beachgoer brings a speaker and tries blasting louder than those around them. The mix of different kinds of music gave you a headache that lasted for most of your vacation, but you realised that bringing some beats to the beach does have a charm. And if you’d do this in Europe, there wouldn’t be any competition. You won’t be going to the party, you will be the party.

It started with a soft beat. Something chill. Tasteful even. You thought, “Nice vibe” and cranked up the volume. Suddenly, there was no stopping DJ Sandstorm and his Bluetooth speaker the size of a small watermelon. Within moments, the crowd would start coming your way to dance naked in the afternoon sun. But that didn’t happen.

You look around and notice that everyone else is either looking angry or seems like they’re quietly dying inside. You had clearly misread the room. So you do what everyone else would do: pretend that you forgot to put on your headphones. Ibiza can be a sad place when you’re the only one at the party.

You were just trying to be friendly. A simple “Hi, first time here!” seemed like a good conversation starter. But then the words kept coming. Something about how free you felt, how your ex never really got you, how this beach reminds you of that one childhood camping trip where you cried into a marshmallow. Wait, what were you even saying?

The poor man next to you nodded politely, clutching his sandwich like a life raft. You knew you’d gone too far when he tried to fake-read the back of his sunscreen bottle. But it was too late. You’d gone full nude beach TED Talk, and now he must think you’re insane.

That’s when you decided to write your autobiography. Just in case this happens again, you can conclude with a “well, I don’t want to spoil too much, you should really read that book”.

One day, you get into a conversation with someone who actually does want you to spoil the whole book. Questions keep coming, but you can barely understand her. Why does this stupid sea have to be so loud?

So you start moving closer… and closer… and closer. You notice that her line of sight is shifting from your eyes to your waist. Is she eyeballing you? From the shape of her lips, you notice that she’s concerned. Is something about to bite you in the butt? You quickly look down and think, “I thought my towel was green. Pretty sure actually. So what is soaking up my butt sweat?”

When you also notice the purse, the sunglasses and the skirt, you know that there’s only one thing you can do: Turn bright red, mumble some incomprehensible words, and start rubbing her towel as if you can wipe it all out again.

You thought it was cute. A little tropical. A bit cheeky. That pineapple-print sarong you picked up on sale last week was just perfect for the beach. Fun and summery, and maybe a nice ice breaker.

It worked. A couple smiled at you, someone winked, and then a friendly stranger offered you a glass of sangria and asked if you “like to mingle.” This was the best nude beach day ever! Was that really the tropical vibe your sarong seemed to be radiating?

You wanted to be sure and asked the sangria guy what he thought about your pineapple print. He said, “Oh, I love it! It makes things so easy! Look, I have one tattooed on my thigh”. It’s not that you like pineapples that much, and the tattoo was strangely placed upside down, but you decided to go with the flow and replied that you’re a big fan of pineapples too.

That’s when it happened. The man puts his hand on your thigh and whispers a whole bunch of things he and his wife would like to do to you. Disgusted, you push him away and explain that nude beaches are all about non-sexual social nudity. He replies: “Then I think you’d better stop showcasing the international symbol for let’s swap partners.”

It was an innocent mistake. Really. You were almost asleep on the nude beach when your phone buzzed. You picked it up and, without thinking, hit “accept” on a surprise FaceTime call. That’s when things went wrong. About thirty seconds into the call, a guy walks up to you. “Are you filming my wife?”

You look and immediately understand the confusion, your phone is pointing directly at a woman with a scared face covered in a sarong. You try to explain while you hear the phone saying, “Are you really filming someone’s wife?” You yell, “No Steve! I am not! The front camera isn’t turned on!”. The other end of the line says, “Yes, you are, I can see her…”

That’s when you notice the woman behind you, who’s clearly also noticing you now. Panic sets in. You immediately end the call, apologise to everyone around and walk away. Wondering if you should throw your phone into the ocean or move to another country.