When I was very young, so I’m told, it was very difficult to get any clothes on me at all. My parents were never actively naked at home but neither was catching a glimpse of a member of the family (no pun intended) ever a problem. Over time, of course, I learned that clothes are what people wear, so that’s what I did. I remember pyjamas being the first item of clothing that struck me as being silly. If clothes were supposed to protect our bodies and to keep us from being seen naked, what on earth was the point of them in my bed? Especially when they masked the sensation of cool sheets on bare skin on a hot night. By the time I was old enough to be left alone during the holidays I was committed to spending my time at home alone naked. I suppose it was part rebellion against the norm, part laziness but most of all that I was comfortable. Comfortable in a way that clothes never made me feel. I was never interested in fashion, I really couldn’t understand girls who could ridicule someone for what they wore, then three months later be wearing the very same thing because it was ‘in’. Clothes can make a statement, whatever you wear. There are those who have to be at the cutting edge of fashion at all times, those who are anti-fashion and make a point of wearing something outlandish and those who don’t much care and just try not to stand out. When I’m naked, that is who I am. No labels, no trying to impress. This is me. Just accept me.