The Way of the Nudist

How You Will Shift Internally When You Start Cultivating the Nudist Way of Life

De: Kristin Williams

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

The Pantsless Awakening Has Begun!

I was 32 when I realized pants were a con. Not just jeans, which, let’s be honest, are denim torture tubes that some man named Levi invented as a dare, but all pants. Leg prisons. Heat traps. And worst of all, a fabric barrier between my soul and a warm plastic patio chair. That day, on a sticky August afternoon, I got home from work, stripped down in the living room, stood there sweaty and triumphant, and thought, “Oh my God. This is it. I am never wearing pants again unless they have a zipper that makes me feel powerful or unless I have to go to a funeral.”

That one moment, naked in front of my Ikea couch with the blinds half open because I forgot the neighbor’s kids were playing with chalk in their driveway, changed my life. Suddenly the air touched places the air had never touched. I felt free, like a feral cat who’s just realized it doesn’t have to pay rent.

What Nobody Tells You About the Nudist Way of Life

Here’s what I wish someone had told me: nudism is not all boobs bouncing in the sunlight and strategically holding wine glasses while looking like a French movie. It is a sweaty, awkward, joyful, itchy, mosquito-bite-riddled ride of self-discovery. It is laughing at yourself when you fall off a lawn chair because your butt stuck to it. It is understanding the true purpose of a towel (spoiler alert: you are going to sit on it, honey, not fold it into a swan).

People think nudism is about being sexy. I can assure you that 85 percent of the time, nudism is about finding out how long you can carry a paper plate of potato salad without dropping it while a gust of wind blows straight into your crotch. You also find out how much sunscreen it takes to cover a butt crack, which is surprisingly more than you think.

The First Time I Tried to Go Fully Naked

The first time I decided to “live my truth” I thought I’d just ease into it. Like a gentle lifestyle experiment. You know, maybe a little naked gardening. So I marched outside, wearing nothing but a sunhat and confidence. Tanya, my best friend, was leaning over the fence like the nosy cow she is, sipping her iced tea like she was in a Southern soap opera, and she yelled, “You’re gonna burn your nipples off!” And I, in my full glory, shouted back, “Let them burn!”

I thought I was looking like a goddess of nature. Turns out, I was looking like a confused raccoon who’d wandered out of the woods with a gardening trowel. It was going fine until I bent over to weed the tomatoes and the neighbor’s golden retriever ran over and licked me somewhere that, let me tell you, has never been licked by a dog before. That was the exact moment I decided nudism is not for cowards.