To Bare or Not to Bare ?….that was the question

The Naked Truth continues...

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British people tend to feel uncomfortable naked and are rarely nude in the house or sleeping – and most agree they are too easily offended by sex and nudity. Not only are British people notoriously shy about sex, studies have found that in recent years the nation is having less of it. Due to busy lives, stress and money worries sexual appetites have been in decline; the sexual revolution of the 1960s and 1970s, it is said, “came and went”.

A 2014  YouGov Study looked at the naked lives of British people, and finds a general sense of embarrassment over bare skin. 59% of British people are either out-and-out uncomfortable naked, would prefer not to say or are unsure, while 42% are comfortable in the nude. Women (63%) are significantly more likely than men (36%) to feel uncomfortable naked.Additionally, very little time is spent naked in Britain. Only 22% say they often walk…

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What’s wrong with people? | The Naturist Page

I’ve come across an article where people are making a fuss over parents bathing with their kids or on Santa’s lap while breast feeding and Santa’s expression was eyes wide and a “OMG” expression on his face with their kids and taking photos in the most normal fashion. It’s not like they are being lewd or anything of that nature, so why the fuss? We were all born naked and if your anything like me, after 37 years of being a Naturist — you see one naked body you seen them all. It’s time for people to realize that it’s completely normal for us to expose any part of our body. what is not to be done is publicly explicit our bodies and publicly have sex or any other of such nature is wrong. Keep them things behind closed doors/walls. Naturism or Nudism isn’t about sexually exploiting or actions with the body. In a nut shell, Naturism is exactly the same lifestyle as textiles. The only difference is, we as Naturists are clothes-free and comfortable in our own skin.

Why I Love Being Naked | Christina Tesoro



When I was a little girl, I was one of the nakedest little girls you’d ever meet. Kids have no sense of shame about their bodies, and why should they? Being naked, as long as you’re not shivering out in the cold, is one of the most natural things a human body can be. From communal bath time with the cousins, where I was only distinguishable by the length of my hair (come on, every family has one of those dorky photos), to walking around diaper-less and fancy-free, to hauling up my polyester Barbie nightie and boogying bottomless in the living room, naked was the way I wanted to be.

Something changed when I was about 6 or 7. I was at a pool club in Brooklyn, wearing an itty-bitty white bikini with rainbow rhinestones on it, and my friend’s older brother said something. Maybe about the bikini being see-through, oooooh. It was my favorite bikini, but suddenly I was mortified. I hurried out of the pool. I remember, every time I saw it, my stomach would clench with nerves and nausea. To be seen naked, suddenly, was an embarrassing thing. Good-bye bikinis, hello plain black one-pieces.

Girls are taught to be ashamed of their bodies in a lot of different ways. From diet commercials and the implausibly thin models in magazines to the sounds of boys and men cooing and sneering and commenting on our bodies as if they have a right to them, naked, exposed skin becomes a hell of a lot more than just natural. It’s simultaneously an invitation and explanation (“She must have been asking for it!”) and one of the main preoccupations of many girls’ lives. Skinny girls long to be a little more about that bass since Real Women Have Curves; fat girls are told their curves are in all the wrong places. It’s toxic.

I spent all of high school and college fretting about my weight and my shape, to the point of it becoming unhealthy. I’d wake up in bed with someone and do that thing they do in the movies or on TV: traipse around with a sheet covering me, hopping from one foot to the other while I tug on my underwear, careful not to let anything show in the light of day.

And then suddenly I was sick of it.

I started to look in the mirror, every single day, with deliberate and positive thoughts. I banished the scale to collect dust under my bed; I banished the thoughts of models and actresses with waists tinier than mine, with more severe and refined bone structure showing off the hollows of their cheeks. These are my thighs, I thought, strong and brown, firmer in the summer months when I spend hours walking and running and dancing. These are my hips, wide like my grandmother gave me. “Childbearin’ hips,” as if that were not a choice but a given. This is the little pouch of my belly where my love of cupcakes and French fries resides; my skin is softest here. Here are my breasts, with stretch marks creeping across the tops of them like ivy; I’m told I have a lovely décolletage.

And my ass, well. I could probably butt-bump J.Lo to Saturn, but it’s not like it’s a competition.

I once had a writing professor who stressed the importance of extending positivity and kindness to each other in a class where we bared our souls. We were naked in that class in a different way, but there’s still something revolutionary in looking at yourself with compassion, with love. Taking the time to see and appreciate yourself exactly as you are — I do it every day. I stand naked in the mirror and let warm shower water dry cool on my skin. I dance. I stage a revolution of one.