Yesterday, Madrid celebrated its annual Nude Day at one of the city’s public swimming pools. And, as happens every year, the same comments, the same doubts, and the same fears surfaced once again.
One of the comments that caught my attention the most was: “That’s fine, but there shouldn’t be any children there.”
And it made me wonder: why?
Children aren’t born believing that the human body is something bad. They aren’t born feeling shocked by nudity. They don’t naturally associate a naked body with shame or sexuality.
They learn that later.
They learn it from adults.
That’s why I find it interesting that so many people think children are the problem, when in reality, it’s usually the parents who are uncomfortable.
We can’t change the mindset of entire generations overnight, but we can educate future generations to grow up seeing the human body as something natural.
And that doesn’t mean forcing anyone to be naked.
Because that’s one of the biggest misunderstandings about naturism.
The goal isn’t for everyone to be naked.
The goal is for everyone to have a choice.
To be able to wear clothes if that’s what you want.
To be naked if that’s what you want.
And for neither choice to cause outrage.
For me, naturism has never been about shame.
I know that for some people it is, but that’s not my experience.
I grew up with a very natural relationship with my body. I never understood why I was supposed to feel ashamed of something that is simply part of who I am.
And when you experience the feeling of air on your skin, the warmth of the sun, the rain, the water, or simply being at home without unnecessary layers, you begin to realise that nudity isn’t always a statement.
Sometimes it’s just comfort.
It’s well-being.
It’s freedom.
That’s why I sometimes smile when I see people who consider themselves naturists one day a year, on a remote beach or inside a designated enclosure, but then hide that part of themselves from the rest of the world.
I don’t mean that as criticism.
Everyone has their own journey.
But it does make me wonder what kind of naturism we’re building if it only exists in isolated places and only for a few hours at a time.
I personally live with a contradiction that many naturists know well.
I have a father who still sees me as a child.
Who still judges some of my choices?
Who considers things wrong that, to me, are completely natural.
And even though I’m an adult woman, even though I’ve helped support my family financially and made significant sacrifices for them, I still encounter limits that remind me that some people simply cannot understand this way of life.
That’s why I know that the real barrier to naturism isn’t nudity itself.
The real barrier is cultural.
It’s other people’s gaze.
It’s judgment.
It’s the deeply ingrained belief that a naked body should be hidden.
And there’s another aspect that is rarely discussed.
If so many people consider themselves environmentally conscious, perhaps it’s also worth reflecting on the relationship between clothing and sustainability.
The fashion and textile industry is one of the most polluting industries on the planet.
It generates enormous amounts of waste, relies heavily on exploitation in many parts of the world, consumes vast quantities of resources, and produces tons of synthetic materials that eventually end up as garbage.
I’m not suggesting that we stop wearing clothes.
I’m suggesting that perhaps we’ve normalised an excessive level of consumption that very few people ever question.
Clothing protects us when it’s necessary.
But beyond that necessity, how much of it do we wear simply out of habit?
How much is driven by fear of what others might think?
Perhaps naturism also has something to teach us about sustainability, simplicity, and more conscious consumption.
That’s why, rather than wondering when society will become a place where everyone lives naked, I wonder when we’ll reach a point where every person can freely decide how they want to relate to their own body.
Clothed or unclothed.
Without fear.
Without scandal.
Without feeling the need to justify such a simple choice as being comfortable in their own skin.
There’s another contradiction that fascinates me.
Many people describe themselves as naturists, yet in their private lives they don’t feel able to live that way.
Because there’s a huge difference between practising naturism on a beach, at a designated swimming pool, or in a place where everyone has chosen to be there for the same reason…
…and practising it in your own home, in your own personal space, in front of your partner, your parents, your children, or your housemates.
That’s where the real challenge begins.
If you’re a naturist but can’t be naked where you live because someone around you doesn’t accept it, then the conflict isn’t only outside society.
It’s inside your own home.
I understand that everyone has different circumstances.
But I also believe there’s a certain level of contradiction when we defend naturism in safe spaces yet don’t feel able to live it in our everyday lives.
For me, naturism shouldn’t be something that’s only practised when nobody you know can see you.
It shouldn’t be a weekend identity.
A holiday identity.
A fenced-off identity.
If naturism is truly part of who you are, then it’s part of you all the time.
And that means having uncomfortable conversations.
It means challenging family expectations.
It means explaining yourself, setting boundaries, and claiming the right to live naturally in your own space.
Because if we’re only naturists far away from home, far away from family, and far away from the judgment of others, then perhaps we’re not really changing anything.
We’re simply hiding our freedom in places where nobody challenges it.
