Nudity comes in all forms. There’s erotic nude, artful nude, lascivious nude, tawdry nude. There’s shocking nude and boring nude, fantasy nude and reality nude, and (as per Seinfeld) good nude and bad nude. But sometimes a birthday suit is just birthday suit, and being nude is just about the freedom of skin and air, and nothing else.
Another item from today’s NYT explores this kind of joyful nudity — kids just wanting to be kids, unencumbered by clothes — and all the subtle issues this juvenile naturism causes.
It’s an interesting, nuanced treatment. I’d love to know what people think about this. At what age does going nude cross the line from joyful to uncomfortable? And does that age then represent a certain kind of turning point in life, in our relationship to joy?