ONE night, after a few drinks, a girlfriend divulged that she’s been a member of a nudist club for three years and told me it’s changed her life.
“I’ve never felt so alive and confident” she said.
In that moment I thought, I want that in my life too. The feeling that reminds you you’re alive. I owe it to myself to at least try this — I’ll become a nudist for a day.
What have I got to lose (other than my clothes)?
Surely, I’m not the only one who’s wondered what it would be like to be a nudist? Those moments when you run from the bathroom to the bedroom letting it all hang out or go to the kitchen for a late-night snack in your birthday suit. Those moments are invigorating.
I told myself it was “research” for my radio show but, honestly, I was curious. I thought it would be good for the soul.
When reality sunk in (and the wine wore off), nudism is something that sounded rejuvenating but bloody scared me. Who enjoys being naked in front of strangers? I started to fret about whether they’d be critical of my body and judge the bat wings and cellulite.
Nudist camps, if I’m being honest, tended to also come with a bad reputation. Before I walked through the gates I thought nudist clubs were for swingers or creeps.
Happy to confirm I was wrong.
I booked an interview with the President of the Canberra nudist club, John. He met me at the gates of the property with a shirt and no pants, so I knew I had arrived at the right place.
His eyes never left my eye-line. He was kind and had made me afternoon tea. I asked him where I should undress and looked around for a toilet to change. “Does it really make a difference?” he laughed.
I guess it didn’t.