A different kind of label

As a young adult, I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. My thin, bony body made it difficult to navigate things like clothing and socializing. My ex taught me that pricey labels were the key to fixing my gaunt looks and shy attitude. In keeping up with his philosophy, I had to wonder whether fashion was for comfort or costume. One day, my friend Josh called me and invited me to a party. It was with a group I had never hung out with.

Of course I would need to impress them with expensive designer brands.

When we pulled up to the party, Josh turned to me with a giddy look on his face.

“I have a confession,” he said.

“What?” I asked, knowing there was now a twist to this invite.

“OK, this is a naked party!”

I immediately felt terrified.

The fear of being naked, otherwise known as gymnophobia, is one of the top phobias in the U.S. People often react the same way they do with fear of heights. Anxiety levels can spike so high that people often feel a loss of control in their panic. And I was one of them.

My clothes would no longer serve as a barrier to protect me from judgement. I begged Josh to let me out of this dare but he wouldn’t have it. He always had a flair for adventureand he did not want to jump off of this bridge alone. After much convincing, we held hands like Thelma and Louise and walked inside.

To my relief, things did not start out naked. There were only men, mostly gay, and I could not imagine that such a setup could avoid breaking into a ridiculous sexual romp.

The crowd seemed nice. However, when guys started removing their clothes, whatever ease I had gained reverted back into fear.

I had no choice but to follow.

As I stripped down I left my underwear on, convinced that if I took it off, I might get an erection and offend everyone.

I sat at the kitchen table hiding most of my body. I slid my underwear off slowly so nobody would see. Now my last barrier of clothing was gone.

The only thing left was me.

Occasionally I stepped out from the table but would quickly scurry back when I sensed a slight breeze. As time passed, I got more daring. By the end of the night, I successfully played naked leapfrog and even embraced the intermittent, uncontrollable erection.

No one cared.

In fact they cheered me on without a single offer of sexual gratification. This felt strange, yet exciting.

I left the party with a new kind of high. I felt exhilarated. Suddenly I didn’t want to be dressed the way I once thought I needed to.

Little did I know this adventure would pave the way into a new philosophy; one without the latest designers.

I attended more parties and helped organize events like naked water polo and naked dodgeball. I joined nude yoga and ran the Naked Pumpkin Run in Boulder. I discovered relaxing, naked hot spots in the winter and breathtaking hikes in the summer.

Indeed I was hooked.

One would think that socializing in the nude would make us more conscious of our physical appearance. But when faced with the situation, those feelings can dissipate quite naturally. In an environment like this, everyone hangs out on this same level of exposure. It doesn’t matter who has the better body or packaging. With the mystery and pressure eliminated, people seem freer to mingle with confidence.

These non-sexual nude scenarios also put us in a place where we have to separate the notion of being naked from the notion of having sex. This can be difficult as nudity and sex go hand-in-hand. Trying to disconnect the two can be surreal. As sexual energy is conjured up, you have to redirect that energy elsewhere. This, combined with that feeling of exposure, really stimulates an adrenaline rush.

If nothing else, the daring trial of a naked party adds momentary adventure to one’s life; something we all need from time to time.

In a recent study conducted on the elderly, people commonly said that they did not regret the things they tried in life, but instead regretted the things they didn’t. This thought reminds us that we may not always take advantage of the obscurities life has to offer.

I am now known to my friends as “the naked guy.” However, I act less like an actual nudist and more as a naked-advocate.

I still like to wear clothes but I don’t worry about brands or labels. Instead, I wear things that reflect my personality. It took stripping off my costume to realize how to simply be me.

This bizarre scenario offers up a threefold feeling of self acceptance, freedom and adventure.

With that in mind, I often find myself pushing friends to, at some point in their lives, take a leap of faith and take off their clothes.

Because sometimes the best label we wear is the one we were born with.