Naked Among Strangers
39 degrees, hot wind, crickets chirping, the air heavy with the scent of warm pine wood, the sea at a comfortable 23 degrees—France on the Atlantic coast. It’s July, it’s scorching, and wearing clothes simply makes no sense. Good thing we don’t have to here.
Every summer for the past five years, I’ve traveled with my partner and his family to the Atlantic coast, to a naturist campsite. Thousands of people—of all ages, body shapes, skin colors, generations, health conditions, and social classes—pour into the pine forests behind the dunes to be as they came into this world: naked.
Before my tantric journey, the idea of being so free with my body was unthinkable. To be at peace with it, in acceptance. To feel the wind, the sun, and the sea on my skin with complete freedom. To allow myself all the comfort and sensuality that nature offers. I explain why this was the case in more detail in my article “Self-Love – merciless (Beautiful)”.
I’m deeply grateful for my journey toward this physical unselfconsciousness. The nudist culture—which doesn’t need to have anything to do with a tantric mindset—has helped me heal on multiple levels: the connection between my mind and body, and ultimately, a deeper understanding of the people around me. It has allowed me to desexualize bodies, to uncategorize my fellow humans, and it gifts me a physical reflection of reality beyond the beauty standards shaped by social media.
Here at the campsite, everything can happen naked: people play volleyball, do yoga, go shopping, to the bar, to restaurants, to the beach, do crafts, make music—and it’s completely normal. Everywhere, things can jiggle; cellulite can be visible, scars, muscles, an extra kilo here, three more there, skin that has lived many years and is allowed to sag—in all sorts of places. Body proportions can take all kinds of forms. And with this comes a deep understanding: just as our bodies are different, so are our life realities, behaviors, and needs.
For a long time, I believed I could only show myself in my best form: “Angle myself just right for the camera…”, “Suck in my stomach, push out my chest…”, “…twist my hips just so to create the illusion of a slim waist…”
An extra kilo or two had to be hidden somehow—or else I wouldn’t go to the pool, the sea, or the sauna at all. I thought I had to be “marketable” and attractive 24/7, able to stand up to comparison with others—thinner, “prettier” people. I avoided certain activities, certain poses, because I thought they’d be unflattering or improper. All of this created a constant pressure to be “presentable” or “decent.” It created a limitation that was 99% not my own—and it stole all my freedom, all my joy, all my lightness in my body and in life itself.
Today, I know that, on one hand, I fell for an industry that has been selling us—since the 90s, and even more aggressively now—a body image as “normal” that is barely, if at all, attainable. On the other hand, I know that social norms tried to keep me in the box of the “good, respectable girl.”
Here, I savor the sight of this human diversity—bodies, realities, and stories of all kinds. I feel inspired by the free, non-judgmental, desexualized way we interact. I wonder: what kind of relationship do all these people have with their bodies? What have they already experienced with them? Are they aware of the gifts their bodies can offer? Do they realize the wisdom their bodies communicate to them every day, through every little quirk and imperfection? And I notice how my eyes find a unique, poetic aesthetic in every body, no matter the age, the fullness or slenderness, or how closely—or not—they align with current beauty standards. I remember how easy this was for me as a child: to see the beauty in those around me.
And so I feel the qualities I recognize in nudist culture, as well as those in our tantric spaces or massages: no matter who sits across from me, I see the person, their story, the beauty of who they are in their wholeness—and I open my heart. Freed from all status, age, mindset, and life realities, we are human: naked, vulnerable, transient. In nudist culture, just as in tantric spaces, all layers can meet without judgment, open dialogue, and offer a glimpse into the other’s world—sometimes into worlds we might never have accessed in our everyday “costumes.”
This shows me, again and again, how different we may be, we are still so alike—and that sometimes we simply need to strip down a little to overcome inner and outer blockages. Who would have thought that such vulnerability in nakedness could hold so much strength? So many qualities that we sometimes cover up with all the layers of clothing, lifestyle, and social status.
Being here, being naked, and being so deeply connected to the nature around me and to my own human nature within—this brings me peace with myself and with others. It brings understanding, empathy, and in the end: love and gratitude for what I get to experience with my body, my portal to this world. Soon, we’ll leave this campsite by the coast again, and we’ll have to cover up once more—I’m already resisting. It’s a good thing we’re only changing campsites, and that we’ll still get to enjoy this freedom for a few more days afterward…
