They’re. They say that social nudism relieves mental stress, and

They will show you medical studies to demonstrate it. They’ll show you another
survey that demonstrates group therapy is more effective when conducted in the
Bare. They will mention statistics that say nudists are generally wealthier and better-
educated than your average fabric-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
Fabric world.
They assert that clothes is a breeding ground for bacteria.
They say one’s skin has to breathe, to consume and excrete,
and that clothing subverts many of the skin’s natural functions.
They maintain that total-body exposure to sun ensures a
higher absorption of Vitamin D, essential to the immune
system. They claim that nudity improves fertility, clears
psoriasis, and prevents Lyme disease. They say that bask

ing nude in the sun fights many kinds 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 am wearing
right now could perhaps lead to 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 honest world than those
in the textile world. Employing desiccated
Gray-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 do not be deceived—his type of nudism aspires to substantially
than mere triflin’ nakedness—it seeks to create a utopian society, to champ
the struggle for women’s freedom, and to maybe even smash the patriarchy if
There is 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 splendor
and human uplift, will eternally remain a severely
world defined
by goofy jokes, by
Elmer Fudpucker at the Nudist Colony
comedy records,
and by zany nudist-camp cartoons depicting a guy who can take two cups of
Java in his hands and a dozen donuts on his
boner. ‘Tis a world encapsulated in irritatingly
clever catchphrases such as “Skin does ” and “I Have got a brand nude outlook!” 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 were not for ,
would be into, oh,
Star Trek
to satisfy their lonesome
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’s a monumental differ-
ence. Porno is dependent upon the general social quelling of nudity, or it
Would not be special enough that folks would pay for it. Much of the sex
industry’s prosperity is really dependent upon the mainstream
nudity. If nudity were banal, it wouldn’t be so “exotic,” and guys
Would not really PAY merely to see a girl’s bare tush.
I often side with the pornographers. My primary beef with social nudism,
Aside from the oceans of aesthetic cheese, is the incontrovertible, established-by-
science fact that many people SHOULD be hung up about their bodies. I am
currently seeking signs for my anthropological thesis that clothing was
initially devised not as vain, peacock’s-feathers-design adornment…nor for
weather-related reasons…nor to conceal a sense of nude shame…but exclusively as
punishment for unattractive folks.

my body. Yours, I’m not so mad about. There are so many people I
Would not desire to relate to on a bare amount. If I don’t even need to look at
them clothed, why would I need to see them with their shit all up front and
in my face? I don’t feel so swell about Utopia if it means I have to be naked
along with everyone else.
Still, the warm wind feels amazing on my exposed skin. But for now, I’ll raise
the fence around my
of Eden and frolic there. Me and
m’woman’ll practice our own pri-
vate brand of Anti-Social Dystopian
Nudism. I like the idea of nudity
for me…but not for thee. Or as a
lady friend succinctly phrased it
when I asked for her thoughts on
nudism, “I do not need to look at
somebody else’s crap.”
Until the late 1960s, the only LEGAL way for
Americans to ogle the naked human form in print
and on film screens…well, the naked
form, anyhow, since
National Geographic
had no