they are. They say that social nudism alleviates psychological pressure, and

they’ll reveal you medical studies to demonstrate it. They will show you another
survey that shows group therapy is more efficient when conducted in the
Bare. They’ll mention statistics that say nudists are generally wealthier and better-
educated than your average textile-wearing drone. They say that nudists,
rather than being sexual deviants, are statistically less likely to commit sex
crimes or incest and participate in extramarital affairs than the sickos in the
textile world.
They maintain that clothes is a breeding ground for bacteria.
They say one’s skin has to breathe, to consume and excrete,
and that clothes subverts many of the skin’s natural functions.
They maintain that total-body exposure to sunlight insures a
higher absorption of Vitamin D, essential to the immune
system. They claim that nudity enhances fertility, clears
psoriasis, and prevents Lyme disease. They say that bask

ing bare in the sunshine fights many types of cancer, even

skin cancer. They say that clothes impede the body’s cir-
culatory, reproductive, and lymphatic functions. They
say these ball-smashingly tight blue jeans I’m wearing
right now could maybe cause testicular cancer.
The faithful naturist feels, deep in the bot-
tom of the sockless toes he squishes in the
grass, that he lives in a fundamentally more
moral, equal, and reliable world than those
in the fabric world. Employing desiccated
grey-pubed leftist jargon and pompous,
Francophilic gobbledygook amid feely-meely
googly Edenic let’s-all-mush-together-in-a-
gooey-protoplasmic-Love-Soup aesthetics,
the naturist theorist proposes a more exalted, more
spiritually advanced mode of living which is available to anyone just by
droppin’ trou. But don’t be fooled—his type of nudism aspires to much
than just triflin’ nakedness—it seeks to create a utopian society, to champion
the struggle for women’s freedom, and to possibly even smash the patriarchy if
there’s any time left after all that other stuff. He proposes a world which
…the human body, with all its warts, rashes, sagging
flesh, ingrown toenails, and swampy bum-stank.
despite all its delusions of philosophical magnificence
and human uplift, will forever remain a severely
world defined
by goofy jokes, by
Elmer Fudpucker at the Nudist Colony
comedy albums,
and by zany nudist-camp cartoons depicting a guy who can carry two cups of
coffee in his hands and a dozen donuts on his
boner. ‘Tis a world encapsulated in irritatingly
Apt catchphrases like “Skin does not equal
sin” and “I’ve got a brand bare approach!” and “We
are nude, not lewd” and “Grin and bare it!” It’s a
world filled with an uncomfortably high quotient of
pervy weirdlin’s who, if it weren’t for nudism,
would be into, oh,
Star Trek
to meet their alone
itch for communal belonging.
In many ways, nudism is, in addition, the natural-created
enemy of pornography. Nudism proposes that
of us should be nude,
while porno posits that just a
of us should. That is a monumental differ-
ence. Porno depends upon the general societal quelling of nudity, or it
Would not be exceptional enough that people would pay for it. Much of the sex
industry’s abundance is actually dependent upon the mainstream
nudity. If nudity were banal, it wouldn’t be so “exotic,” and men
wouldn’t actually PAY just to see a girl’s bare tush.
I often side with the pornographers. My primary beef with social nudism,
apart from the oceans of aesthetic cheese, is the indisputable, demonstrated-by-
science fact that some people SHOULD be hung-up about their bodies. I’m
Now seeking signs for my anthropological thesis that clothes was
initially invented not as vain, peacock’s-feathers-style adornment…nor for
weather-related reasons…nor to conceal a sense of naked shame…but only as
punishment for unattractive individuals.
my body. Yours, I am not so crazy about. T here are so many folks I
Would not want to relate to on a bare amount. If I don’t even want to look at
them clothed, why would I desire to see them with their shit all up-front and
Inside my face? I don’t feel so swell about Utopia if it means I have to be nude
along with everyone else.
Still, the warm wind feels amazing on my exposed skin. But for now, I Will increase around my
of Eden and frolic there. Me and
m’woman’ll practice our own pri-
vate brand of Antisocial Dystopian
Nudism. I enjoy the thought of nudity
for me…but not for thee. Or as a
lady friend succinctly phrased it
as soon as I asked for her ideas on
nudism, “I don’t need to look at
somebody else’s junk.”
Until the late 1960s, the only LEGAL way for
Americans to ogle the nude human form in print
and on movie screens…well, the nude
form, anyhow, since
National Geographic
had no