Nude protester halts traffic during anti‑ICE demonstrations in Los Angeles
An unclaimed act of naked defiance joins a growing wave of global unrest
The Bare Truth: A Catholic Perspective on Nudity
Christians are getting it wrong when it comes to nudity. My piece dives into the taboo subject. It explores the misconceptions and benefits of this activity, and why nudity needs to be de stigmatized.
Supporting Naturist Creators
Why I Became a Patron of Naked, Nudists, and Naturists
To make naturism thrive and develop, we need to support naturist creators. I support many nudist and naturist creators by subscribing to their services, purchasing their products, or becoming patron. Last week, I became a patron of Naked, Nudists, and Naturists (NNN) on Patreon. This platform, which is the official podcast of the American Association for Nude Recreation, is dedicated to celebrating and promoting naturism through engaging content and interviews. By supporting them, I believe we can amplify the voices of creators who are passionate about nudism and naturism.
When One of Us Doesn’t Feel Comfortable in Our Skin
By ournaturistlife November 19, 2025
The Quiet, Honest Moments Naturist Couples Don’t Talk About
There’s a comforting myth people like to believe about naturists: that once you choose to live nude, your body confidence becomes permanent. It’s as if the moment the clothes come off, every insecurity you’ve ever carried simply dissolves. To the outside world, naturist life looks effortless, a state of constant comfort, constant ease, and constant self-acceptance.
But the truth is far more human, and far more tender. We are not finished products. We don’t have all the answers. We are still learning how to navigate these moments together, the sudden hesitations, the wavering confidence, the days when our bodies feel unfamiliar, and the quiet emotional shifts that naturism makes impossible to hide.
If anything, naturism hasn’t removed insecurity; it has made us more honest about it. So, what do we do when one of us doesn’t feel comfortable in our skin?
To be honest, we’re still figuring out how to meet each other gently in those moments.
People See the Photos, Not the Moments Before
When people see our photos, especially the artistic ones, they see the final result. They see Corin looking radiant and at ease, the light falling beautifully, the setting serene. What they don’t see is how many of those moments almost didn’t happen. They don’t see the times when we set everything up, the space ready and the inspiration alive, only to pause because something inside doesn’t feel aligned. They certainly don’t see the days when we close the camera bag without ever using it.
Although Corin appears confident in the images we share, there are days when she isn’t. Sometimes the confidence arrives fully formed; sometimes it doesn’t show up at all. And the very same is true for me. My insecurities may look different, but they’re no less real. I have days when I don’t feel grounded in my own body, or when my reflection catches me at an angle that stirs old insecurities. Naturism doesn’t prevent those moments; it simply removes the layers that help us hide them.
These invisible pauses, the quiet decisions to stop, to wait, or to try another time, form the emotional heartbeat behind the photos. They are the part no stranger sees.
Naturism Makes Us Honest With Each Other
One of the most unexpected lessons naturism has taught us is that insecurity doesn’t disappear; it simply becomes more transparent. When you remove clothing, you remove the easy ways of managing discomfort. There are no flattering angles created by fabric, no strategic shapes of clothing to offer emotional safety. Everything you feel, physically or emotionally, comes through the moment you stand bare.
Yet this vulnerability has brought a strange kind of closeness. Confidence and discomfort become mutual experiences that we navigate together. When one of us is struggling, it shows in subtle ways: a shift in posture, a quiet pause, a slight hesitation that wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone except each other. Because naturism makes hiding impossible, it has encouraged us to grow more attentive and more compassionate.
Being naturists hasn’t made us immune to insecurity; it has simply made us better at acknowledging it.
Why We Judge Ourselves So Harshly
Sometimes we pause and wonder why these uncomfortable moments happen so easily in the first place. Why does one angle in a mirror have the power to unravel us, or why does a small shift in lighting suddenly make us question the bodies we’ve lived in for decades? It’s not that naturism creates these feelings. They were planted long before. Self-judgment is something most of us absorbed from society long before we ever considered stepping into a naturist life.
We grew up in a world that teaches us that our worth is tied to how we look. Bodies are measured, compared, commented on, and categorized as if they are public property. Every magazine cover, every advertisement, every storyline in movies and television reinforces the idea that there are right bodies and wrong bodies, acceptable flaws and unacceptable ones. Even when we believe we’ve outgrown those pressures, the emotional weight of them stays lodged deep inside.
Naturism challenges those beliefs, but it doesn’t erase them. We can spend years embracing our bodies and still have moments where an old script suddenly plays in our heads, telling us we should look younger or smoother, or that aging needs to be hidden, or that real bodies require apologies. These ideas were sewn into us long before we undressed in front of others. So naturally, they surface from time to time, often without warning.
When we stand together in our naturist lives, we’re not just shedding clothing. We’re shedding decades of conditioning and judgment, and that is not a single act. It is an ongoing process. Some days we feel free from it, as if the world’s expectations slide effortlessly off our shoulders. Other days those expectations cling tightly, whispering that maybe we are not enough in the shape we’re in. Those are the days we realize we’re still unlearning. We’re still reclaiming. We’re still doing the emotional labour of teaching ourselves to see our bodies through our own eyes instead of society’s.
The Difference Between Not Being Happy With Our Bodies and Being Ashamed of Them
We’ve also learned there is a meaningful difference between not being happy with your body and being ashamed of it, and understanding that difference has softened so many of the emotions we once carried quietly. Not being happy with your body is natural. It’s the ebb and flow of living in a body that changes from one day to the next. There are mornings when nothing feels quite right, or evenings when a passing reflection surprises you in a way you don’t enjoy. These moments are temporary. They’re emotional weather patterns, drifting in and drifting out.
Shame is something else entirely. Shame is deeper. Shame is learned. Shame is the voice we inherited from a world that judged us long before we learned how to think for ourselves. It tells us that something about our body makes us unworthy or unacceptable. Shame convinces us that we are the problem, not the culture that taught us to measure ourselves.
We’ve walked this path before in some of our other writing, especially in Defiant Love: Our Marriage, Our Naturism, Our Rebellion and We Left Shame Behind… and We’re Not Going Back! Those reflections explored how shame embeds itself in us, and how naturism became our way of rewriting a story the world tried to write for us. This new moment in our journey connects back to those ideas, because shame rarely disappears on its own. It needs to be unlearned and gently released.
Naturism helps with that, but it doesn’t magically erase the old scripts. It simply makes room for truth to stand beside them. Most of our hard days aren’t about shame; they’re about temporary discomfort. But when shame does surface, naturism gives us the emotional space to see it for what it is, and being together gives us the support to move through it rather than bury it.
Supporting Each Other Without Trying to “Fix It”
One of the most important things we’ve learned, and are still learning, is that you cannot reassure someone out of discomfort. Even the most loving words, such as “You look amazing,” or “There’s nothing to worry about,” don’t always reach the place where insecurity lives. That is not because the words aren’t true, but because discomfort isn’t logical. It’s emotional.
When one of us is having an uncomfortable day, what helps isn’t convincing the other person to feel differently. What helps is acceptance. Space. Gentleness. What helps is saying, “It’s okay, we don’t have to do this today,” and meaning it. What helps is choosing connection over productivity, and emotional truth over expectations.
The kindness isn’t in pushing through the discomfort.
The kindness is in not needing to.
Sometimes we simply sit together and let the moment be what it is. Sometimes we shift plans entirely. Sometimes we take the pressure away and let the day unfold without a camera, without an agenda, and without the expectation that confidence will be there on command.
We’ve come to understand that our naturist life doesn’t require constant bravery; it requires mutual grace.
The Days After Matter Just as Much
What people rarely see is the way confidence quietly returns. Sometimes it happens the next day; sometimes later, but it always finds its way back. A night’s rest, a small shift in mood, a moment of reconnection, and suddenly the body that felt unfamiliar begins to feel like home again. The light seems softer. The air feels easier. And we find ourselves stepping into the moment with a sense of natural ease that wasn’t possible the day before.
Often, some of our favorite photos are taken after a day we almost gave up. Not because the pictures are perfect, but because they’re real.
They’re honest. They are the result of respecting each other’s boundaries rather than ignoring them.
Off days don’t ruin anything. If anything, they prepare us for the most authentic ones.
It’s Okay to Feel This Way
If there’s one thing we want people to take from all of this, it’s that these feelings are normal. It’s okay to have days when you don’t feel comfortable in your own body. It’s okay to question yourself, hesitate, or wonder why confidence seems to come and go. You don’t have to love every inch of your body to enjoy naturism, and you certainly don’t have to wait until you reach some mythical level of perfect body acceptance before trying it.
Somewhere along the way, naturists picked up this unspoken expectation that we’re supposed to be past all of this. That choosing nudity means we’ve evolved beyond insecurity. That we’ve solved something internal that others are still working on. That because we accept other people’s bodies so easily, we must accept our own with the same gentleness.
But that isn’t how it works. Not for us, and not for most people.
Naturism doesn’t require you to already feel confident. It doesn’t demand that you’ve unlearned every message society drilled into you about your supposed flaws. And it doesn’t ask you to pretend you’re immune to all the feelings you spent a lifetime developing. You can’t undo years of self-criticism overnight. You can’t erase decades of being taught to see your imperfections first. And you shouldn’t feel like a failure for having moments where those old messages still echo louder than you’d like.
Trying naturism… or continuing with it… does not mean you’ve perfected self-love. It just means you’re willing to show up anyway. You’re willing to learn. You’re willing to see what might change when you stop hiding from yourself. And sometimes, that act alone is more transformative than any amount of confidence you think you’re supposed to have.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like you weren’t “naturist enough” because of your insecurities, we hope this reassures you: you already belong. You don’t need to be fully comfortable with your body to experience naturism. You just need to be willing to be kind to yourself while you figure it out.
We are still figuring it out too.
Naturism Isn’t About Perfection, It’s About Presence
Confidence is not a steady flame. It flickers, it dips, and it reignites. Naturism doesn’t grant us mastery over that cycle; it simply teaches us to observe it, accept it, and support each other through it. We’ve learned that naturism isn’t about being comfortable all the time; it’s about being present with each other even when we’re not.
The quieter moments, the ones where we pause or change plans or simply stand beside one another without expectation, have become some of the most meaningful of our entire journey. They remind us that naturism is not a performance of confidence. It’s a practice of honesty. It’s an ongoing study in vulnerability, patience, and emotional truth.
And in those moments, even when one of us doesn’t feel comfortable in our skin, we’re reminded of what truly matters: we’re still learning how to navigate these moments together. We’re still growing. We’re still discovering new layers of each other. We’re still deepening the trust that naturism allowed in the first place.
Because at the end of the day, the most meaningful part of naturism isn’t the confidence.
It’s the connection.
By Greg Martin0, 2 JAN 2026
In search of the historic tidal pools in Cornwall which miners created using dynamite
Wild swimming in Cornwall is becoming increasingly popular - albeit maybe less so at this time of year.
As well as diving into the open water of the sea, bathers are taking the plunge at the numerous tidal pools that can be found dotted around the Cornish coastline.
Of course, wild swimming is nothing new, and it will come as no surprise that people have been enjoying the safe bathing of Cornwall’s tidal sea pools for hundreds of years.
However, it did surprise me to learn that some of these pools are not as old as they seem, and were in fact man-made within the last century, usually by miners and almost always with dynamite.
With man-made tidal pools looking almost identical to the many natural tidal pools, it is difficult to establish how many there are in Cornwall.
There is very little recorded history about the creation of pools, with most of it coming from word of mouth.
Concentrating around the coastline of west Cornwall, with its rich mining history, I decided to try and seek out the tidal pools created by miners, to see if they are still being enjoyed to this day...
The first tidal pool that I discovered to be created by miners is in the far west of Cornwall at the bottom of Kenidjack Valley, once an important tin mining area where the remains of Wheal Owles, Wheal Castle, Boswedden Mine and the Kenidjack arsenic works are still visible today.
Laura went on to explain to me the attraction of tidal pools:
“Tidal pools, for me, offer peace and privacy. I'm drawn to off the beaten track swim spots that feel a world away from the crowds and, more often than not, you have the pool totally to yourself. On a choppy day they often offer a tranquil swimming spot alongside the sea so you don't have to forgo a swim.”
Laura continues: “There's a certain magic about them being revealed and then engulfed by the tide twice a day - they have a seductive beauty, almost like gems set into the cliff when viewed from a distance.”
The steps leading down to the Avarack pools have worn away after years of storms, and the main pool now only has a couple of feet of water in it, as one of the man-made walls making the pool water-tight has crumbled away.
It should be noted that these pools or others like them can contain hidden hazards.
No shirts, no shorts ... lots of service!
Eddie Matz
Oct 6, 2009, 05:15 PM ET
This column appears in the October 19
Body Issue of ESPN The Magazine.
The meal is just plain awkward. On a gray September Friday, we sit in a western Pennsylvania pizzeria, sharing appetizers and uncomfortable conversation. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple of hack writers -- six disparate souls with little in common except the dawning reality of what is about to come. We are the Breakfast Club, only this is dinner.
"Anybody wanna split that stuffed mushroom?"
"Anybody know where the bathroom is?"
"Anybody ever done this before?"
Not hardly.
A couple of months earlier, one of my editors had called with an assignment. He told me about a wildly competitive volleyball tournament held each September not too far from Pittsburgh at a resort called the White Thorn Lodge. The event has been luring quality athletes from all over the country for 39 years: D1 players, national team members. The comp is of such a high caliber, they call it the Super Bowl of Volleyball. "Anyway," he said, "we want you and Struby to round up a team and write about playing in the thing." (Struby is fellow Mag writer Tim Struby, whom I'd met a few times but knew nothing about other than that he's more than a half-foot shorter than me, used to model and didn't seem the volleyball type.)
"Sweet," I replied. "Sign me up."
"One more thing," the editor said. "White Thorn is a nudist lodge."
Legend has it that nearly 3,000 years ago, a Greek runner named Orsippus won an Olympic race after losing his loincloth. And now I'm being asked to follow his lead, to proudly continue the legitimate if under-the-radar tradition of nude competition. Now, I may never have had a proper nudist experience, but I will admit to being a bit of an exhibitionist. I spent the first couple of years after college working at a Club Med resort, where I was approximately 8 percent clothed during the day -- and even less so at night. But finding four others who are both good at volleyball and willing to take nudism for a spin -- in front of millions of readers, no less -- seemed a nearly impossible task. Making it harder still was a mandate from The Mag to field two female pros (for gender equity's sake).
Against all odds, though, Struby came through, landing a pair of blonde bombers, Carol Hamilton and Michele Rauter, who played at Cal State Dominguez Hills and Wyoming, respectively, before going pro in Europe. Born in Long Beach and raised in San Diego, where she tends bar in the off-season, Carol is no stranger to public nudity, having been more than once to the world-famous Black's Beach in La Jolla. "I've always been very comfortable with my body," says the 6'2" lefty. Ditto Michele, a 5'9" native of Vancouver, B.C., who doubles as a personal trainer and tells me that visiting a nudist camp is on her bucket list.
Pros in pocket, I filled the fifth slot with a friend of a friend: Noah Kaiser, a free-spirited teacher from LA who played outside hitter at Westchester High, looks like Lenny Kravitz and is always down for anything. The final golden ticket went to a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend named Greg Hunter. Greg is a newly-graduated Rutgers setter who spent the summer playing the East Coast beach circuit in a Speedo. Add yours truly, a former regular at the famed Rosecrans courts of Manhattan Beach, and we are a roster of gamers.
I've worked out like a fiend for the two months leading up to the event, so I have no fear of what lies ahead. No inhibitions at all. Or so I think, right up until we get back in our RVs after our get-to-know-you dinner. As we rumble in tandem along State Line Road near Beaver Falls on Friday night, just minutes from our destination, my head suddenly swims with doubts. Exactly when will we have to get naked? Did I work out enough? Should I have trimmed down there? Should I have tanned? Will anyone notice the cluster of freckles on my right butt cheek that looks like a chocolate chip cookie? Will anyone not? Is it too late to get implants?
I'm not the only one with issues either. Carol has her period. Michele has ingrowns from her Brazilian wax. Noah frets about not being circumcised. Greg? He's stressed about having broken up with his college girlfriend the day before. And Tim? Well, he's anxious about playing a sport he doesn't really know how to play.
When we drive through White Thorn's front gate, all of our concerns disappear, replaced by sheer and utter disbelief. An elderly man carrying a clipboard approaches on the driver's side. He wears one of those Day-Glo orange vests that are popular with parking attendant types -- and nothing else. I can't help but gawk at his manhood. Not surprisingly, it looks like every other one I've ever seen. Next to him stands a stout woman with short gray hair. She's in jeans and a burgundy flannel shirt, unbuttoned halfway to reveal two bronzed, sagging breasts in their entirety (I swear I've seen her on HBO's Real Sex). Jeans and a flannel? Yes, it is unseasonably cool for the last week of summer -- temps are in the low 60s -- but still. "We're nudists," the woman says, "but we're not stupid."
Through the trees to the right is a view unlike anything any of us has ever seen: a swirl of naked bodies and volleyball nets, sprinkled with bobbing white balls. It's like one of those computergenerated movie scenes in which the hero lands on another planet and stumbles upon a mass congregation of inhabitants praying to a different god. Or performing some unknown ritual. Or playing nude volleyball. We are in another world.
The planet Naked.
The camp was founded in 1961, back when there was an actual naked volleyball association called the Tri State League, made up of real-deal squads from Penn Sylvan (Pa.), Sunny Heights, (N.J.) and Pine Tree (Md.). The league led to White Thorn's hosting of the inaugural Super Bowl, in 1971. What started with five squads is now a 70-team event. Whatever we might think about naked sports, this is serious naked sports.
We've arrived just in time for the opening ceremony. The evening is crisp, but that doesn't stop the two flag-bearers from performing their duties in full glory. Nor does it stop last year's champions from parading around the clubhouse lawn in nothing but socks and shoes. The team goes by the name Tiki Tomba, and its members look less like nudists and more like athletes. "I thought the volleyball was going to be crappy," says Carol, eyes wide with shock. "But these guys look like players." We find out later that almost all the Tiki Tombas were on the East Stroudsburg University volleyball team.
From the moment we rolled into camp and noticed that the weather had put the clothing back in clothing-optional, we expected not to have to get naked until our match the next morning (Rule No. 1: If you're playing, you're naked). We also expected to be able to practice some before having to show off our goods, so to speak.
But when the opening ceremony wraps, the White Thorn brass asks us to take the court. We've requested a spot in the all-male AA level, the tourney's highest division, but given our estrogen-laced roster, the powers-that-be are dubious that we'll be able to hang with the Tiki Tombas of their world. They're afraid someone will get hurt, maybe take a 110 mph heater square in the face. I tell them these women are pros; if anybody's going to get hurt, it sure as heck won't be one of them. In any case, they want us to face the music. I feel like a pole dancer on amateur night.
Sensing we'll chicken out, a topless woman, who had been warming up with others on the other side of the court, crosses under the net, introduces herself and cajoles us into huddling up with her. "We've been dying for you ESPN guys to come," she says. "See all those people? They want to see a game. Just one, just for fun." Then she turns to Carol, who's dressed in sweats and a tank top, and yanks off her shirt. Game on.
Turns out, White Thorn has had trouble keeping the participation of a certain national sports magazine a secret. As we stand beneath an inky sky on the green asphalt of Court 1 -- White Thorn boasts 11 outdoor courts -- the buzz of the lights gives way to the buzz of spectators. Hundreds of bodies that moments earlier weren't there line each side of the playing area. Many are clad (they're nudists, not stupid) and curious. "We're on a stage," says Michele. "Everyone is waiting to judge us."
We end up playing not one but two games, in varying degrees of nakedness. Noah, who had conquered his demons as soon as we parked the RVs, plays completely naked. Greg wears shorts. Carol is half-clothed, Michele fully so. "It was freaking cold," she says later. "Plus, I was too concerned with playing well." So am I, which is why I keep my T-shirt and shorts on. But during the first game, all I can think about is an insight shared by a White Thorn vet: When you're around a bunch of naked people and you're the one wearing clothes, you feel like an idiot.
By game's end (we lost), I realize he's right. And as I shed my threads for the second game, I'm not as concerned about how my body looks as I am obsessed by the sight of my underpants. When you anticipate that your skivvies will be on display -- maybe you're headed out for a romantic dinner, or maybe you're Soulja Boy -- you dress accordingly. Preparing for a naked volleyball game isn't one of those times. I hastily yank off my shorts and sagging, moth-eaten daddy briefs in one fell swoop. Out on the court, readying myself for the start of play, I quickly realize how exposed my backside feels. The serve receive position is similar to the classic ready stance of most sports: wide base, knees bent, butt sticking out. Mind you, I'm in the back row, which puts my keister that much closer to the watchers. You know the gem about the sun not shining on a specific spot of the human anatomy? It holds true for me, but only because it's night.
Struby, after surveying the talent on the court, decides to stay on the sideline on account of the whole bump-set-spike thing, although he's not exactly heartbroken about missing the whole nudity thing. "I have no problem getting naked," he says, "but I want to do it when I want to do it, not because everyone else is doing it." Luckily, Ian, a White Thorn regular, is willing to take Tim's spot for the weekend, and Ian has no issue with being au naturel -- not now, not ever. Feeling pretty good, we win the second game.
On Saturday morning, the only thing that has changed is the sky, which has brightened all the way to a deep gray. It is still chilly, and we are still on another planet. Dozens of angular, naked bodies have already flooded the courts to practice. Then there's us, the Breakfast Club, on Court 1, doing hitting lines, fully clothed. "None of us is ready to get naked," says Michele. But by the time the ref (naked) blows the first whistle, we're all rocking birthday suits. As it turns out, it's not unlike rocking a new pair of prescription glasses. At first we're very conscious of the difference, but before long we don't even notice. Everyone else is doing what we're doing, so by definition, it's normal. And playing a very high level of volleyball, we all get caught up in the game. "At first I felt unprotected," Carol says later. "Like, just because I had my clothes off I was going to get hit in the crotch. But after about five minutes, I totally forgot I was naked." Between points is a different story. "That's when I noticed everything," says Michele. "I thought my boobs would hurt from bouncing around, but during the game I didn't even feel them. The only time they bothered me was between plays." What bothers me between plays is not knowing how to interact with my teammates.
Part of what makes volleyball a great nudist pastime is that the game itself requires no physical contact. Problem is, no sport features more high-fiving and ass-smacking than six-on-six volleyball. Every single point is a slap-and-tickle fest waiting to happen. When you're clothed, that is. When you're naked, slapping and tickling doesn't come so easily.
But winning overcomes everything, even on planet Naked. Especially on planet Naked. In its all-out party environment, winning is the drug that shatters the ice. In each of our first four games of Saturday's pool play -- all close losses -- our interpoint interaction never goes beyond mild high fives and the occasional fist pound. Although we're comfortable in our own bare skins, a collective self-consciousness infects our side of the net. But in our fifth game, a miraculous, come-from-behind win against a stacked team we have no business beating, all propriety gives way. We are the Ohio State Buckeyes, only instead of stickers on our helmets we have handprints on our butts. Greg, riding a mix of ample rumpus and inspired play, is by far the most decorated among us.
We don't win again, and we'll be eliminated in the first round of Sunday's playoffs, but it doesn't matter. We've gone from strangers who barely know each other to friends who know each other barely. Even Tim gets in on the action. Late Saturday, with another throng watching our final pool-play match (our women make us the Michelle Wie of White Thorn; everywhere we go, a gallery follows), Tim pops up from the sideline, strips down and subs in for a single play so he'll be eligible for the playoffs, just in case. "Until then he was an outcast," says Michele. "After that, he was one of us."
The meal is just plain easy. On a golden Sunday afternoon, hours after our final match, we sit and share roasted corn and belly laughs. A bartender, a trainer, a teacher, a college kid and a couple hack writers. Thrown together by the nudity gods, we are six kindred spirits.
"Can't believe we won only one game."
"Can't believe the handprints on your ass are still there."
"Can't wait to come back next year."
Eddie Matz is a senior writer at ESPN The Magazine.
A punch in Colchester, a moral panic in London
How one attack has ironically become ammunition in Britain’s latest fight over public nudity
Dec 31, 2025
Researcher writing about nudity, history, nudism, and culture. Director at Western Nudist Research Library. Host of Naked Age and cohost of New Nudist Podcast. Grandson of Rudolph Johnson (pictured). Freehiker & father. He/him.
Video still from the Colchester World Naked Bike Ride assault | Source: Prosecutors’ footage (via news reports)
Organizers of the London World Naked Bike Ride are navigating heightened scrutiny and rising operational pressures following a wave of backlash triggered by a violent assault on a nude cyclist in August—an escalation that demonstrates how quickly public nudity is becoming a flashpoint rather than a protected form of protest. That backlash does not reflect how most Londoners experience the ride, which organizers say has long been met with curiosity, humor, and broad public tolerance, but rather how easily a single incident can be weaponized once media and political attention fixates on it.
The changes come after Robert Brown, 59, a participant in the Colchester World Naked Bike Ride, was punched off his bike by a passing motorcyclist, a local sanitation worker who later said he mistook the rider for a “pervert.”1 The cyclist suffered lasting injuries. The attacker received a suspended prison sentence.
What followed was not a renewed focus on vigilante violence as the victim might have hoped for, but a reframing of the incident itself. In the weeks after the assault, tabloid coverage, talk radio segments, and online campaigns began treating naked bike rides as the underlying problem, and putting the victim of the initial crime in a position to have to publicly defend himself accusations that he is a “pervert.”2 A petition calling for the London ride to be banned circulated online, framed around “safeguarding” and child protection—even though no laws were broken and no children were involved in the incident whatsoever.
This is the story Planet Nude readers will likely recognize: a real incident, a moral panic layered on top of it, and a familiar conclusion. Restrict the bodies that are easiest to police while ignoring the real problem.
The UK’s nudity literacy problem
Initial reporting focused, understandably, on the violence. Footage released by prosecutors showed the moment of the punch, and coverage emphasized the shock of seeing a nude cyclist attacked in broad daylight. But as the clip circulated, the frame subtly changed; the cyclist’s nudity became the headline hook, the assault itself merely a backdrop. Campaigners opposing the rides argued that events like the World Naked Bike Ride blur legal boundaries, normalize indecency, and place children at risk. Emma-Jane Taylor, a child safety campaigner who launched a petition to ban the London ride, described the events as unsafe and inappropriate. Several politicians echoed the sentiment, referring to riders as “flashers on bikes” and characterizing the rides as a failure to maintain public order.3
Emma-Jane Taylor | The child-protection campaigner behind a petition to ban the London World Naked Bike Ride has argued the events “allow perverts to be seen,” framing the issue as safeguarding | Photo: Supplied (via Daily Mail)
What went largely unexamined was the legal reality. The rides are lawful, coordinated with police, marshalled by volunteers, and governed by strict codes of conduct. Nor did much coverage linger on the uncomfortable implication of the proposed solution: that when someone reacts violently to a lawful protest, the protest—not the violence—should be curtailed.
Part of what allows this inversion to take hold is a persistent lack of public understanding about the law around nudity in England and Wales. Public nudity is not, in itself, a sexual offense. Under the Sexual Offences Act 2003, context and intent are decisive in cases involving nudity, which becomes criminal only when it is lewd, sexual, or intended to cause harassment, alarm, or distress—not when it is part of a peaceful protest or everyday activity.
British Naturism (BN), which has spent decades engaging with police forces, councils, and public authorities, says this misunderstanding is widespread. “Many people assume that being naked in public must be illegal,” Mark Bass of British Naturism told Planet Nude. “This belief often arises not from the law itself, but from unfamiliarity. When something is rarely encountered, it’s easy to conclude there must be something inherently wrong with it.”
Addressing that unfamiliarity has become a central focus of BN’s public-facing work. In recent years, the organization has increasingly turned to direct public education efforts, including its The Naked Truth campaign, which aims to clearly explain what UK law does—and does not—say about non-sexual public nudity. The campaign distills complex legal guidance into accessible language, countering the assumption that nudity is automatically indecent or unlawful.
BN’s engagement has also shaped how the law is applied in practice. According to Bass, guidance from the Crown Prosecution Service and the College of Policing on how officers should respond to reports of public nudity has directly benefitted from BN’s input. “This has never been about seeking special exemptions for naturists,” he said. “It’s about helping authorities avoid unintended consequences and ensuring laws are applied fairly and sensibly.”
That distinction matters. British Naturism does not organize World Naked Bike Rides, which are protest actions rather than club naturism. But the principle that lawful nudity should not be treated as inherently suspicious is a shared concern.
Bass also cautions that the backlash may say less about nudity itself than about a broader shift in social behavior. “Ten years ago, people who disapproved might have tutted, rolled their eyes, or complained to friends,” he said. “Today, reactions to things people dislike have become more extreme. Opposition increasingly turns aggressive.” In that climate, ambiguity becomes dangerous. When the public is unclear about what the law permits, and media coverage leans into outrage rather than explanation, escalation becomes easier to justify.
“Think of the children,” again
Perhaps the most predictable element of the backlash is the invocation of children. Opponents of the rides consistently frame their objections around safeguarding, even when children are not directly involved. In the Colchester case, no minors were present. No allegations of harm were made. Still, campaigners quickly shifted the focus away from the assault itself and toward speculative risk.
The logic is familiar: not that something did happen, but that something could happen. That possibility, once raised, is treated as sufficient justification for bans, restrictions, or heightened control. The burden of proof quietly reverses. Organizers and participants are asked to demonstrate that harm will never occur, rather than critics being asked to show that it has.
Planet Nude readers have seen this pattern before. In Wisconsin, a nearly identical strategy was deployed against World Naked Bike Rides in 2023.4 There, outrage centered on the presence of a single minor participant at the Madison ride—accompanied by a parent, at a clothing-optional, city-sanctioned protest. Conservative media coverage framed the child’s participation as inherently exploitative. Republican lawmakers seized on the controversy to introduce bills that would have criminalized public nudity outright and prohibited minors from attending events where adults might be nude. Law enforcement had investigated and found no violations of state or local law. The child involved reported no harm and expressed enthusiasm about the experience. None of that slowed the political response. The bills advanced anyway, driven less by evidence than by the optics of “protecting children” from a perceived moral threat.5
Robert Brown stands with his bicycle in Colchester, Essex | Brown, who was assaulted during a World Naked Bike Ride event in August, has publicly rejected claims that naturist cycling is “perverted” and has defended the legality of non-sexual public nudity | Photo: Daily Mail
What’s notable is how little these debates hinge on facts once the safeguarding frame is activated. In both London and Wisconsin, child protection functioned as a rhetorical trump card—an argument that effectively shuts down discussion by casting disagreement as indifference to child harm. It is a powerful move because it bypasses proportionality and triggers deep emotions. If children are invoked, nuance becomes suspect. Legal context becomes secondary. Intent no longer matters.
The remedies proposed under this framing are rarely narrow or surgical. They are sweeping and punitive, aimed not at specific conduct but at entire categories of expression. In Wisconsin, lawmakers sought to rewrite indecent exposure law altogether. In the UK, campaigners have called for outright bans on naked bike rides, despite their legality and long history of peaceful operation.
In both cases, the underlying assumption is the same: that nudity itself is the danger. Once that premise is accepted, violence against nude bodies can be rationalized as provocation, and restrictions on lawful protest can be framed as prevention. That is not safeguarding. It is moral panic, dressed in the language of concern.
The pressure reshapes the protest
As of this writing, the consequences of the moral panic have become visible. Last week, organizers of the London World Naked Bike Ride have reportedly hired additional security for next year’s ride, and adjusted route plans to reduce friction.6
Bass argues that the response to this moment will shape what comes next. “Naturism is rooted in respect, empathy, and kindness,” he said. “Calm, measured responses aren’t always easy when emotions are running high, but striking back only deepens division. If we want to reduce hostility rather than amplify it, respectful engagement is essential.”
Stripped of tabloid story-framing, the question isn’t whether everyone likes naked bike rides, or even whether nudity is inherently lewd or not. It’s whether lawful protest can survive a climate where discomfort is treated as danger, and danger is treated as license. The cyclist in Colchester did nothing illegal. He was assaulted for being visible. How Britain responds to that fact will say far more about the state of public freedom than any petition ever could. 🪐
Updated 12/31 at 11:00 a.m. PST: This article was updated to clarify the use of “panic” along with factual details around the petition, event planning decisions, and the distinction between media backlash and on-the-ground public response.