The nude beach

My partner and I have been going to the beach a lot this summer. It’s free and close to home, and they love collecting sea glass. 

Recently, we got bored with our usual spot and heard about a semi-secluded beach just down the street where sea glass is abundant. 

Today, we found the spot and packed our gear down a few flights of stairs that led to the beach. Right before the entrance, there was a sign that had some warning (about swimming?), but it was mostly graffitied over. The last legible text was a combination of graffiti and signage, written ‘NUDE’ in Sharpie and ‘Beach’ following. I laughed to myself and thought there was no way this was legit. 

I realized quickly that I was wrong when we turned the corner, and most people lounging here are fully naked. 

Walking past the beachgoers and tripping over the rocks that are in place of sand here, I contemplated what this meant for us. Nothing really, but I’m so good at overthinking. We settled into our spot and laughed about how we never knew this was here. 

It’s a strange feeling being surrounded by nude folks, and you’re the only one clothed. It’s a weird social paradigm that has me feeling like a prude for being so covered up. I tell myself that I’m not as brave and admire their courage. However, I don't even know if these folks are feeling courageous or confident. Maybe they’re a little freaked out too. 

I wanted to take a moment to reflect on why this feels significant, uncomfortable even. Was it my apparent contrast in being covered in a long sleeve to protect my skin from the sun? Was it anti-feminist of me to compare my body to theirs? Am I a bad sex educator because my gut reaction to public nudity was discomfort? 

Maybe. But I’m writing about this because it represents something bigger about how we see nudity in our society, as something to be shied away from, eyes averted downward, something we brace for in certain contexts like when entering a public changing room. But it’s ironic that this is the case when there’s so much nudity and sex in the media we consume, the celebrities we follow and the people who model our clothes. Somehow, abnormal, digitally edited bodies have become more normal than, well, normal bodies. Somehow, porn is normal, and regular sex isn’t. Somehow, we judge people so quickly based on their appearances and assume they are good or bad people depending on how they look.

I don’t think that nudity should be something people are afraid of. After all, the normalization of our bodies and the celebration of our differences are huge contributing factors to the work I do. It’s what I believe, but clearly, there’s a lot of unlearning I have to do to really embody those values (pun intended). 

I’m not here to make a statement for or against anything, because ultimately people’s choices for their own bodies are none of my concern.

My discomfort isn’t their problem. But I am grateful for the unexpectedness of this afternoon, because when discomfort arises, I can think back to my values and question my built-in assumptions about other people. One of my core values is respect. I respect that I entered the nude beach and chose to stay clothed, and on the other side, I respect that these folks chose not to. 

But as I sit here longer and my partner combs the beach for seaglass, I’m noticing that the waves and the blooming sweet peas complement the naturalness of these naked bodies, and it’s actually kind of beautiful. It hasn’t taken long for me to settle in, and maybe next time I’ll bring more sunscreen.