nudity

Some days I feel like a Botticelli, some days I feel like a sexy, dumpy baby. Even when I am naked, my frame of reference is limited. I have not seen too many positive, mainstream depictions of bodies like mine.

It was time to embrace my nightmare. So I stripped and for the hell of it hung about bare-assed in a room full of clothed people. Although I’d already left self-consciousness behind me, I wanted to be able to tell this story.

It all started with a text from my roomie, Kori: "I am manifesting lying out, and getting some sun on my cooch."

It was at about this time last year that the Free the Nipple movement first gained steam, as women and male allies around the world responded to Lina Esco’s critically-acclaimed film of the same name by staging peaceful — and, of course, topless — protests.

It was all going well . . . until the SWAT team arrived.

What struck me the first time I embraced nudism was the sense that all societal codes—including those governing the patriarchy—were gone.

Three weeks into the terrible violence between Israel and Palestine, an interesting phenomenon has cropped up: women taking their clothes in support of IDF soldiers.