Mostrando resultados por autor "Kristin Williams" en Todas las categorías

Okay, let’s get one thing straight: being naked is not the problem. The problem is how we’ve been taught to feel about being naked. We’ve been conditioned to think that stripping down is somehow a shameful act. We’ve been told to hide certain parts of ourselves, to be ashamed of our bodies, and to cover up when we feel vulnerable. But here’s the truth: that’s all a bunch of nonsense. Our bodies are beautiful, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being completely, unapologetically naked—physically and emotionally. I’m Kristin, and I’m here to show you how to step ...

Alright, let’s start this thing with a little honesty, shall we? You’ve probably been wearing a mask for most of your life. And no, I’m not talking about those cute little Halloween accessories or the ones that make you look like an actual superhero (though I totally respect anyone rocking a cape). I’m talking about the metaphorical mask—the one that hides the real you, the one you put on every day to face the world and pretend you’ve got it all together when, honestly, you’re just trying not to spill coffee on your shirt before your Zoom call. But guess what? When you’re ...

Alright, let’s just get this out of the way right now: yes, I’m talking about being naked with your friends. Now, before you start squirming in your seat and thinking, "Kristin, what in the world are you suggesting?" hear me out. It’s not as weird as you think. In fact, it's pretty liberating. And trust me, once you strip down and embrace the absurdity of being bare-skinned with your closest pals, you’ll wonder why you didn’t do it sooner. Before you say it—no, I’m not advocating for full-on nudist colonies or spontaneous naked meetups at your local coffee shop. I’m talking ...

Welcome to The Finland Nudist Traveler's Guide, where we invite you to strip away your inhibitions, embrace the freedom of being fully yourself, and explore the serene beauty of Finland—au naturel. Whether you’re a seasoned nudist or a curious first-timer, Finland is one of the best places on Earth to experience the liberating joy of nudity in nature. And if you’ve never been to a sauna where clothing is considered a “silly, unnecessary thing,” then buckle up because Finland is here to show you what true relaxation feels like. The Finnish approach to nudity is as relaxed and ...

Alright, here it is. The moment I’ve been waiting for—the naked truth about entrepreneurship. And when I say "naked truth," I mean it literally. Like, no clothes on. I’m talking about being fully exposed to the world while running a business. No mask, no layers, no fabric—just you, your idea, and your entirely bare self. I know, I know. You’re probably thinking, “Kristin, what in the actual world are you talking about?” But hear me out. This isn’t some weird, “you have to bare your soul” kind of metaphorical nonsense. No, I started my yarn business while literally naked....

Alright y’all, let me paint you a picture. It’s 7:42 p.m. on a Wednesday. I’m buck naked in my kitchen, holding a glass of cabernet like it's a weapon of self-love, stirring a pot of risotto with one hand and trying not to let my boob graze the hot pan because that is how nipples die. Tanya just texted me, “U up?” which means she’s either drunk or about to ask me if I still have that bottle of whipped cream vodka in my freezer from our “Bachelor Finale and Feelings” night. (Yes, I do. And no, I’m not proud of it.) Now listen, if you’ve never eaten a warm chocolate lava ...

So here’s the thing nobody tells you when you decide to take up naked yoga: the mats are cold, your boobs have opinions, and if you’re even slightly gassy, you're playing a high-stakes game of Russian roulette with every twist and fold. And yet, here I am, thirty-eight years old, moderately flexible, wildly underqualified, and completely nude, doing downward dog next to a man named Chip whose testicles appear to have seen some things. Enlightenment? Maybe. Hemorrhoids? Also maybe. I wasn’t always like this. I mean, I’ve always been a little bit unhinged, but nudity used to be ...

Look, I love America. I really do. I mean, what’s not to love? Freedom, fireworks, potato salad, and the God-given right to let your bits breathe in the open air if that’s what your heart desires. And baby, mine desires it a lot. There is nothing, and I repeat, nothing, more liberating than celebrating the birth of our nation with your butt cheeks flapping in the breeze like two proud bald eagles soaring in formation. I’ve been a nudist for years, and I’ve had a few very memorable 4th of Julys in that time. Some involved nudist colonies, some involved Janet from next door ...

So, You Wanna Get Naked, Huh? Alright, alright, simmer down now, put your pants in a drawer and let’s talk about this. Welcome to Get Naked: Enough Said!—the only book that will make you laugh, cringe, and possibly chafe, all while exploring the weirdly wonderful world of being as God made you: butt-naked and possibly slightly sunburnt. Now before you start clutching your pearls or Googling “Is it illegal to read a nudist book in pants?” let me just say—I didn’t always live this way. Nope. I was once just like you. Wearing pants. Sweating in bras. Adjusting wedgies in public ...

Okay, listen. Before you clutch your pearls and gasp “Oh my God, she’s naked again,” let me just say: yes. I am. Probably. If I’m home and the windows are closed and nobody’s mowing the lawn next door, there’s a 92% chance I’m totally butt-ass naked right now. You clicked on a book called The Time I Answered the Door Naked… so honestly, I feel like the nudity part shouldn’t be the most shocking thing happening to you today. Now, you might be wondering, How does a seemingly functional, semi-responsible adult woman with two houseplants and a Costco membership just casually ...

Look. You know how some people just can’t resist pushing a big red “Do Not Push” button? That’s me. Except the button is my pants. And the warning sign is usually a friend yelling something like, “Kristin, for the love of GOD, not HERE.” I remember it vividly. The sky was the color of an overcooked egg yolk, and the beach was crawling with families, volleyball bros, and at least one bachelorette party in matching hot pink “Bride Squad” tank tops. A totally normal beach day. Which is exactly why I knew I had to get naked. Now, don’t get me wrong—I was trying to be normal ...

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she says, “You know what? To hell with it,” and takes her pants off in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon while eating a sleeve of saltines and watching Murder, She Wrote reruns with crumbs in her bra. Except, in my case, there was no bra. And there were no pants. And I was not well. Hi. I’m Kristin. I’m 38, once tried to exfoliate my thighs with a loofah glove and a dream, and this is the story of how I had a full-blown life meltdown, took my clothes off, and somehow clawed my way back to joy, peace, and the kind of sweaty confidence ...

A book in which I lose my bikini bottom, find my true self, and accidentally traumatize a pizza delivery guy So here we are. You, probably clothed. Me, writing this from a lawn chair in my backyard with absolutely zero fabric between me and this sticky vinyl seat. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, my butt is lightly suctioned. And yes, I’m still going to sit here and tell you the gospel truth: being naked is the most freeing thing I’ve ever done in my life, next to breaking up with Chad the Tax Guy who thought wearing Crocs during sex was sexy. (It wasn’t.) Now, before you start imagining some ...

Let me paint you a picture: it’s a Sunday morning. I’m standing in my kitchen, gloriously nude, coffee in one hand, half a cinnamon roll in the other, Fleetwood Mac humming softly through the Bluetooth speaker. The window’s open. My butt is catching just enough breeze to feel like a Disney princess who’s emotionally healed. I am at peace. Enter my then-boyfriend, Josh. Wearing flannel pajama pants like a man who’s not yet learned that crotch ventilation is self-care. He looks at me—bare, radiant, lightly glazed in cinnamon roll icing—and says: “Don’t you think you’re a ...

If you’ve ever looked out over a sweeping Montana mountain range and thought, Wow, this view would be even better if I wasn’t wearing pants, congratulations—you’re my kind of person. Because Montana? Oh honey. It’s not just Big Sky Country. It’s Big Naked Butt Country. There’s something about all this open land that just begs for a little breeze on the booty. The towering peaks. The endless prairies. The wild, unapologetic nature of it all. Montana is basically daring you to drop trou and become one with the elk. And honestly? I accepted that dare years ago and haven’t ...

Look, I didn’t wake up one morning and decide, “You know what would make me feel really in control of my life? Taking off my bra in front of strangers.” That would be weird. Even for me. And I once tried to make banana bread in the nude and accidentally sat on a hot oven mitt, so my threshold for “weird” is alarmingly high. But here we are. I’m Kristin. I’m a loud, semi-responsible, mid-to-late-thirties lady who has gone through more phases than Susan has gone through boyfriends she met at Whole Foods. I’ve been a try-hard corporate chick with power blazers and stress-...

My left butt cheek is still mad at me. You know how some people have elegant stories about self-discovery? Like they found themselves while hiking the Alps, drinking herbal tea brewed by a monk, and journaling about gratitude in a linen robe? Yeah. That’s not this book. I found myself ass-first in a bush, screaming “WHY IS THIS SO SPIKY?!” while naked, holding a soggy banana, and trying to practice “mindful breathing” like some kind of deranged, bare-skinned woodland goblin. Hi. I’m Kristin. And I didn’t mean to become the kind of person who regularly gets tangled in shrubbery...

Meditating Nude: Yes, I’m Serious. No, I Won’t Put Pants On. Let’s get this out of the way: yes, I meditate. Yes, I do it naked. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like—me, bare as a peeled banana, sitting criss-cross applesauce with nothing but my thoughts, my breath, and the occasional butt breeze to keep me company. And no, I will not apologize for it. People ask me all the time, “Kristin, do you have to be naked to meditate?” And I say: “No. You get to be naked to meditate. That’s the magic.” This isn’t just about hippie nonsense and butt freedom (although, obviously...

So there I was, butt-naked on a wet log, holding a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and trying to swat a mosquito off my inner thigh with the other, wondering how the hell my life had come to this. And you know what? I was happy. Cold? Yes. Slightly sticky from marshmallow goo I still swear wasn’t mine? Also yes. But happy. If you’re here reading this book, bless your bare little heart, that means you’ve at least considered what it’s like to spend time in nature with your cheeks out and your bits breathing the fresh air. And let me tell you, it is one hell of a ride. A weird, ...

So here’s the deal: You’ve probably heard the phrase “Don’t let your pants hold you back,” right? Well, guess what? It’s true. I mean, who made pants the boss of us anyway? Just think about it. There’s this whole world of freedom that opens up when you take them off—and I don’t just mean after a long day of work when you can’t wait to throw your jeans across the room and live your best “sweats” life. No, I mean really take them off. Like, throw on your birthday suit and walk around without a care in the world. That’s what we’re talking about here. Now, I know, I ...