Nice to meet you, I’m a Nudist

The other day, we were having lunch with about 10 strangers when someone turned to us and asked: “What do you guys do?” We’ve been in this situation many times before, and meanwhile, we know the drill. We have a quick glimpse at each other, and in not much more than a second and without saying a single word, we come to a unanimous decision on the question “Are we going to tell the truth? Or are we going to lie?”

Well, it’s never really lying, more like omitting parts of the story. We could say that we’re content creators, or that we’re in marketing. Depending on the crowd, sometimes just saying that we run an online business is more than enough for them to change the topic. But here at this very table, everyone was running an online business. Everyone was looking for ideas and inspiration, so we were certain that being vague wasn’t going to do the trick. They would ask more questions until we would need to say it eventually or actually start lying.

But the truth is, we were never planning to lie or omit some truths in the first place.

Over the years, we have been praised for how courageous we are to talk so openly about a topic that is still often considered taboo. But the truth is, we weren’t always like that. When we first discovered social nudity, we didn’t tell a single person for at least two or three years.

Looking back, it seems so ridiculous. From those first visits to the spa centre, we knew that something had changed. We loved doing this, we loved the vibe, the people, and the way it took us out of our comfort zone. In a way, we probably already felt that this might change our lives. And yet, we decided not to tell a single person.

It’s been a while now, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember what we exactly felt at that moment. There was probably the fear of being judged and the fear of being sexualized. But most of all, the fear of being completely misunderstood. Not that long before, when people would have told us that they liked to spend their time naked among a bunch of naked strangers, we would probably have raised an eyebrow as well.

In the end, though, if there was someone who completely misjudged someone else, it was us towards our family and friends. Yes, they raised eyebrows, they made the jokes, but what we didn’t take into account was that they would also ask questions. They showed interest. They were as curious as we had been when we took our first steps into social nudity.

It started with close friends, we don’t remember the exact moment when we blurted out that we had been going to naked spa centres and the odd naturist campground, but we imagine it must have been on one of those wine-indulged nights when taboos seem off the table. When they reacted surprisingly positive, we started to drop the message to other friends. Not really in the sense of “Hey, wanna know what, we are nudists now!”, but in a more conversational way, often as an answer to the question “What are your plans for the weekend?”.

The fact that everyone showed genuine interest was, of course, very positive. But what we hadn’t taken into account was that we weren’t really prepared to answer all the questions. Especially the “Why would you do that?” one took us a long time to find an answer to. The reasons all make so much sense to us and probably to you, who’s reading this, as well. But if you start talking to people who have hardly ever heard of social nudity about feelings of freedom, becoming one with nature, and getting deeper connections to other people, they might think you joined a sect.

Also, at least for us, it wasn’t one thing that completely blew us away. We probably felt a sense of freedom or liberation, although it didn’t really live up to the excitement of having discovered something completely new and so different from society’s standards. The natural elements were undeniable, and feeling that breeze pass by your body or the water during your first skinny dip was amazing, but it’s not that we suddenly became environmentalists or biologists. Or cavemen.

In the end, we agreed that the element that we both enjoyed a lot, and that was pretty easy to explain, was comfort. There’s the physical comfort of not having to wear anything. It’s like how most people get that feeling of comfort when they switch into pyjamas in the evening, but better because there are no pyjamas involved. Or wet bathing suits, sweaty clothes, the list goes on and on. But there’s also the mental comfort of not having to consider what to wear or what people will think of you. In a way, the comfort of being able to just be you.

The more people we told, the more confident we became about talking about nudism. But still, we weren’t shouting it from the rooftops (or blogging about it). From most of our close friends, whenever we didn’t immediately respond to their phone calls, we received a message saying something like “You’re probably at one of your naked places again. Can you give me a call when you’re dressed?” A few colleagues and general acquaintances knew, mostly because it had somehow come up in a conversation, we had given each other “the glimpse”, and decided that it was okay to tell them. Some family members knew as well.

Our grandparents did not know. In our heads, telling them was a step too far. Why would we bother anyway? They wouldn’t understand, and we would just be an unnecessary source of worry that their grandchildren had joined a sect. Or had become cavemen. So we just didn’t tell them. Just like a few other people of whom we were pretty sure that this would lead to a discussion we were not prepared to have. Not because we thought we were doing something wrong, but because we were sure that they’d think we were.

Eventually, our grandparents did find out. During the first year of Naked Wanderings, we had done an interview with a British newspaper. A few days later, we learned the dynamics of how the media just copy each other’s articles. More specifically, when we came back from the beach in Greece one day, and our phone was exploding with messages, “You’re butt naked in our newspaper!” Our grandparents were surprisingly okay with it, to be honest. But didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Sitting at that lunch table a few weeks ago, we had no idea what reaction to expect. We had just met these people a few hours ago. None of them were nudists (that we knew of). Some were from countries where nudism is illegal. And we had just said that we are nudist content creators. There was a brief silence, but nobody seemed to be choking on their food or spitting drinks all over the table. It felt like forever, but it probably wasn’t more than just a second before someone replied: “Wow! That is such a great idea! How did you come up with that?”

To give you some background, we were at a Digital Nomad Summit in Chiang Mai, Thailand. A place where people who live a somewhat nomadic life and work online get together to meet and be inspired. Most of them are used to being considered some kind of an outlaw and are very open to trying new things, from food to transportation and from languages to skinny dipping. Many more than we ever imagined had been to nude beaches before, and a few even to naturist resorts. One of the things we loved about hanging out with other digital nomads is that there’s very little judgment.

Similarly, our friends and family don’t judge either. They love us and trust that we are making the right choices (read: are not joining a sect). Even though they may never even consider going naked among others, they respect that we do.

These people are our tribe. This is not about everyone doing exactly the same thing, it’s about having a common ground and respecting each other for our differences. That’s what makes life interesting. In a way, we know that we’ve been the source of quite some conversations at the dinner table or the bar. “Guess who I had lunch with today… You’re never going to guess… With two nudists! And yes, they were wearing clothes”. Maybe they’ve joked about us, we don’t care, because they’re just continuing what we started: An open conversation about nudism.