This is the second of four articles addressing nudity and society. Although a series, the first three will stand alone; the fourth article will be a selection of useful supporting links. Consequently there will be overlap of material between the articles. The articles are not fully referenced (hence Article IV), although a Google search on “nudity society body acceptance” (or similar) will find many articles (academic and otherwise) relevant to the whole series, starting perhaps with British Naturism’s 2020 Submission to Parliament.

At the risk of stirring up a hornet’s nest, I want to consider something that gives people pause: nudity and sex.

Almost all societies and cultures have taboos about sex and nudity. These appear largely based around the idea that if someone is nude then sex must be involved – and vice versa. Nudity and sex become inseparable; one cannot exist without the other.

But the liberating truth is:

Think about that for a minute …

When we separate nudity and sexuality, we make room for more genuine comfort and body confidence – with ourselves and with others.

Nudity doesn’t have to be sexual. Being nude doesn’t automatically mean being sexual. Sometimes (most times) it just means being comfortable – in your own skin, with no pretence or performance. Think of when nudity is about freedom or expression: sunbathing, painting a self-portrait, breastfeeding, or stepping out of the shower to feel the air on your skin. None of those moments require sexual intent to be meaningful or beautiful.

Unfortunately though we’ve built a whole culture of taboos around nudity. Most of us have been taught to associate nudity with shame, temptation, or worse – an equation which is at best flawed. Such conditioning makes it hard to see the body as neutral let alone something to be appreciated, rather than judged. When we uncouple nudity from sexuality, we start to see bodies (ours and others) with more compassion and less anxiety.

Sex doesn’t have to be naked. Sexuality is about connection: emotional, physical, spiritual. While we often picture it involving total nakedness, that’s certainly not always the case. People can share deep intimacy while partly or completely clothed. Words, eye contact, emotional vulnerability, can be just as intimate as anything physical – whether clothed or not.

When we realize sex is about energy, communication, and consent – as opposed to what the body looks like – it takes the pressure off; it helps us redefine intimacy in ways that feel authentic rather than performative.

We live in a culture obsessed with, but terrified of, the human body. It seems to me a large part of the problem, and the reason for the taboos, is fear: we’re frightened of nudity because we don’t understand it; we think it (might be) an invitation, a sign of doubtful morals; and we’re petrified of losing control and being unguarded.

Because we see nudity as an invitation the media and marketing droids play on it; constantly trying to sell us a new Utopia in a bottle or a bra. Meanwhile society insists we cover up, hide, or feel guilty about our bodies, our physicality. We must not be seen to give the “wrong” messages.

This kind of mixed messaging makes it hard to know what’s “appropriate” or “normal”. So no wonder we cling to the taboos; they’re the only thing we know which appears safe.

We’re brought up with these mixed messages. But it needn’t be this way. We know kids are oblivious to nudity until we teach them otherwise. Research has also shown that being around nudity does kids no harm; it actually does them good because they develop better body image, and a better ability to see through society’s bullshit. We can do this through teaching kids about consent, boundaries and context so they can see the beauty and vulnerability of the body – and of course intimacy when/where appropriate. Sexuality can, and should, be approached in the same way.

How can we hope to have balanced and open minds when there are important elements of being human we keep closed off?

If we can’t talk about sex, we end up with shame and a lack of education.

If we can’t talk about (or see) nudity, then mental health suffers and we’re constantly fearful and prudish.

Healing this starts with awareness. It’s OK to admire the human body – yours or someone else’s – without turning it into something sexual. Let’s be honest: which of us doesn’t appreciate a pretty girl or a handsome guy (depending on one’s proclivities) whether nude or not. It’s OK to feel comfortable in, appreciate, and admire your skin, your body, without shame; and it’s OK to appreciate others. The body itself isn’t the problem; it’s the meanings – so often creepy or (latently) abusive – we’ve learned to attach to it.

Everyone has different levels of comfort around nudity and sexuality. Some, like me, are completely open and unfazed regardless of circumstance (it’s how I was brought up, enabling me to develop my own beliefs); others the complete opposite; most somewhere in between. What matters is choice and consent. You get to decide what feels right for you; when, where, and with whom. In return, others deserve the same respect.

Not assuming nudity always means sex, and sex always means nudity, gives us permission to create clearer boundaries, deeper trust, and an open mind; and it’s easier to honour what’s truly comfortable, rather than what’s culturally expected.

At the end of the day, your body’s not just something you “have”; it’s an integral part of who you are. It’s not inherently sexual, shameful, or wrong. It’s your home. Learning to inhabit that home with kindness and acceptance can be incredibly healing.

Let’s accept nudity as normal; and let’s see sex the same way. But they’re not ipso facto joined. Why should we not accept nudity as normal, just as we would Fred’s new suit or Suzy’s cocktail dress? We can admire and appreciate them, without seeing them as inherently sexual.

So whether you’re fully clothed, completely nude, or somewhere in between, remember you get to define what intimacy means for you; not anyone else and certainly not society. Which means: nudity doesn’t require sex (unless all those involved consent for it to do so); and sex doesn’t require nudity. But both, when approached with awareness, consent and respect can be deeply human (even transcendental) experiences.