Community

What Makes Social Nudity Special

“The Large Bathers” by Paul Cézanne, 1895-1906

Within the wide and diverse community of nudists and naturists, here in America or anywhere else, it seems everyone finds something different and personal that made them feel welcome, liberated, renewed. We’re all here, but here for something unique to us. Or at least that’s the story. Thus, the question of why taking of one’s clothes brings people together is often raised by nudists. We wonder what exactly it is that makes us keep coming back, keep wanting to hang out with each other naked, keep finding reasons and excuses and places to be joyously nude for seemingly no other reason than to be nude, to do something that most of society would otherwise deem pretty… unusual. A question posted on X (formerly Twitter) last month by Hector Martinez had me thinking about this. In his post, Hector asked, “Does social nudity help [us] feel less lonely?” To which I responded that I felt it was the community aspect of social nudity that soothes loneliness. But I’m still pondering that question long after responding, so I want to share some of that.

Social nudity is fundamentally about social interaction as much as it is about nudity… and perhaps it’s even more about social interaction than it is about nudity, though I’m sure there are folks who would disagree. As humans, we are biologically wired to crave social interaction as one of our basic needs, so it’s no wonder that we will find any excuse to connect ourselves with others, any reason to gather or celebrate or commune. Getting naked with other people who find nakedness liberating is not all that different than any other community that gathers for all sorts of other reasons. Is the nudist and naturist community special because it seeks to connect folks from all walks of life, all colors, all stripes, all economic classes, all backgrounds? I think we as nudists would attest that, yes, that is pretty special! And I agree that it is!

Or… maybe it really isn’t.

Once upon a time, I was an adjunct French instructor. In reflecting on this question as it pertains to social nudity, it has dawned on me that there existed in that classroom a connection to something not dissimilar to the kind of community sought through social nudity. If you’re not familiar with the wide world of French language education, I’ll let you in on something special about francophiles: There’s a whole community around it. And I’m not even really referring to the diaspora of francophones who live in every corner of the world, but to the people who decided to learn the French language by choice, who love French film, who read French books, and plan vacations to visit francophone countries and practice what they’ve learned. For example, in seemingly every major world city, there is an Alliance Française, an educational and cultural center with an actual physical presence sponsored by the French government where people can meet to take classes, practice their French, and celebrate French culture. Is it really all about French? Or, perhaps, do people long for a connection to something bigger than themselves and learning and loving French is as good of an excuse as any to make friends and celebrate something together.

It’s not just French classes that bring people together, of course. For many people, the church—whatever denomination it may be—has long provided a valuable connection to a common community in much the same way as the Alliance Française or the local nudist club. The concurrent decline of church attendance and the rising epidemic of loneliness may not be directly linked, but the two trends do certainly speak to a larger trend away from community spaces in general, away from connecting with people face-to-face, away from so-called “third places,” away from having a common joy or belief or interest. I remember my childhood church as being a place where people who may otherwise have had nothing in common at all could come together around something bigger than themselves, would support each other through hard times, would celebrate one another’s wins and mourn one another’s losses. Whether a person is religious or not, francophone or not, nudist or not, whatever else or not, belonging to a community like this brings with it security, confidence, connection.

Ultimately, I think what makes the nudist community special is that it’s not really all that special at all, that it’s just like any other community that takes a common interest or a common gathering place and gives people reason and motivation to keep coming together to share in it. Is the nudist community any better at this than any other community? Maybe? Sometimes? I don’t really think so, though, if I’m honest. Nudists are arguably much less efficient at bringing people together physically than francophones or religious communities. We don’t have cultural centers and churches in every major city, for example, and finding places to gather can be tough for people who want to be nude. But that doesn’t mean that the nudist community isn’t just as valid as any other community, that it doesn’t offer something unique to its members, that it doesn’t present a valuable perspective to the world. The philosophies of social nudity and body acceptance are great at connecting people over long distances and shared ideas, great at creating a community, even if we don’t always have physical spaces in reach.

That’s my parting message: The nudist community is special, in that it’s a reason for community and community in itself is one of our basic human needs. The nudist community is special, in that it gives us an excuse to connect and celebrate and support each other. The nudist community is special, in that it’s not all that unique or unusual at all, even if it’s often treated that way.