Have you ever scrolled through social media, seen those idyllic photos of people enjoying a clothing-optional space, sun-kissed, carefree, and utterly at peace, and thought, “That’s exactly what I need: a place free from judgment, where my body can just be?”
In theory, a naturist venue or space should be the ultimate safe space, where the concept of “body positivity” isn’t a trend, but a living, breathing reality. Yet, for those like myself with a larger body, the lived experience often feels like a sharp betrayal of this promise. Now, this isn’t the case at all naturist places, but it does feel that way at some.
I want to dive into the uncomfortable truth behind the scenes of some naturist spaces. It’s time to call out the subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle fatphobia that lurks where it should least exist, and look at the crippling hypocrisy of claiming body positivity in theory while practicing judgment in reality. I hope that you will gain a deeper understanding of this crucial issue and feel empowered to advocate for truly inclusive spaces, whether you’re a seasoned naturist or just curious about dipping your toe in.
At the heart of naturism is a simple and powerful philosophy: embracing non-sexual social nudity as a means of personal and collective liberation. It’s meant to break down the walls of shame and guilt that clothing often builds up. The idea is that when we are all stripped down, our differences fade, and we recognize our shared humanity.
Part of this philosophy is the explicit embrace of every body type, shape, scars or no scars and age. The common narrative celebrates the freedom from having to look “good” or fit a certain mold. It’s supposed to be a place where the cultural obsession with thinness is finally shed alongside our swimwear. Naturism is where people should realize that what we see on modern media is all altered to be the “perfect” ideal body.
Come as you are
In naturism, we live by the statement “Come as you are. All bodies are naturist bodies.”
Growing up in a non-nudist household like many people, I was not immune to the pressures of society. The media influences were just as pressing for me as a male as they are for a female. Of course, most of society won’t discuss how the “perfect” male body image that is seen on television is also an issue for boys growing up.
Even in school, the other children around me also teased me about my weight or the size of my penis. All of this teasing obviously has to come from somewhere. It came from what was and still is portrayed in the shows and movies we watch. A man should be physically built to be a tank with huge muscles that are perfectly toned.
Back in time when I was a child, I faced the same pressures and bullying as any female that grew up around me. Sure the pressures and bullying might look different but let’s call a spade a spade because it’s all harmful to a child and how each one of us perceive ourselves. The harmful narrative that we as humans have to look a certain way and be a certain weight to be seen as being healthy is just wrong.
In school I was often not picked to be on a team for a game of tag or even to play kick ball or anything else that had a team element, likely because of my larger size. This happened not only among the children but even the adults, such as those who coached the soccer team I was on in middle school.
It stings when the invitation never arrives, not because you weren’t top of mind, but because of a silent, predetermined judgment about your body’s capabilities. There’s a particular kind of exclusion that happens when the kids or even adults around you organize a game of pickup kick ball or plan a challenging mountain hike and simply don’t ask you to join, operating under the assumption that you’re “too fat” to want to participate or, worse, that your presence would somehow inhibit the experience for others.
Anti-fat bias
Historically, in many cultures, including early on in the United States, being fat or “plump” was often seen as a positive sign of wealth, health, and prosperity, signifying freedom from disease and ample access to food.
By the 19th and early 20th centuries, as American prosperity grew, a different cultural shift occurred among the white middle and upper classes. The ideal body in modern American society became thin, tight, and fast-moving. In this context, a thin body became the new status symbol, signifying that one could handle the excesses of a wealthy society through discipline and self-control, whereas fatness was mocked in popular culture as incompatible with progress and leisure.
As anti-fat bias became more entrenched, a counter-movement emerged. In 1967, the first “Fat-In” was held in New York’s Central Park to protest discrimination. This led to the founding of the National Association to Aid Fat Americans (NAAFA) in 1969 (now the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance) and the more radical Fat Underground in the early 1970s, launching the fat acceptance and fat liberation movements to fight discrimination and promote the view that all bodies deserve respect and equal rights.
Anti-fat bias remains one of the most entrenched forms of prejudice, with studies showing that, unlike other forms of bias such as race or sexuality, implicit weight bias has not significantly decreased in recent decades and is still highly prevalent.
I’m sure that the exclusion I experienced wasn’t usually malicious, but it stems from deep-seated anti-fat bias that incorrectly equates size with a lack of interest, fitness, or endurance. It forces people like myself to battle not just the physical challenges of the activity, but the psychological burden of constantly having to prove your athleticism and desire to move, often before you’ve even had a chance to lace up your shoes. This experience strips away the opportunity for camaraderie and fun, leaving behind a frustrating mix of disappointment and resentment towards a world that judges your potential based on a visible metric.
The reality on the ground, however, often tells a different story. While many formal naturist venues usually have robust policies on anti-discrimination, the casual, cultural fatphobia ingrained in wider society can’t simply be taken off like a pair of shorts.
Many individuals with larger bodies report feeling a distinct, often isolating difference in the atmosphere. I have also felt this same thing at naturist venues where there is just a feeling or a gaze that gives me the feeling that someone has an anti-fat bias. It may not manifest in overt insults, but in a thousand tiny cuts.
The gazes directed at someone with a larger or more “plump” body feel heavier, more scrutinizing and less accepting than those directed at bodies that conform to the modern beauty standards.
Marketing bodies
Another area where I have seen the anti-fat bias happens to be in many promotional materials for resorts, clubs, naturist blogs and even naturist organization websites. They often lack representation of various body sizes to include those who are larger. It sends a clear message about what bodies are considered “ideal” in naturist spaces.
There is also the stigma that someone who weighs more than the “ideal” or textbook weight is not healthy. This persistent cultural narrative that equates thinness with discipline and health is another area that creates and perpetuates the anti-fat bias. Often a thin person is seen simply as a body, but a fat person is seen through a lens of a lifestyle choice that is being judged.
This creates a pervasive sense of being tolerated, not truly celebrated. For someone who has taken a huge, courageous step to embrace nudity in a social setting, only to find the same subtle layers of bias they sought to escape, it is profoundly discouraging. The shame that naturism is supposed to erase is, in these moments, amplified and reinforced.
Every person on this earth has been uniquely designed to be different. We all have a different body shape, color, height, weight and overall biological makeup. This uniqueness should be celebrated and welcomed in naturist spaces.
If we want naturism to be relevant, we must actively and intentionally dismantle the internal fatphobia. It’s not enough to simply state, “everyone is welcome.” Welcome must be translated into a feeling of belonging. This shift requires more than just good intentions; it demands action from the community and its leaders.
Clubs and organizations must prioritize visible and authentic representation of diverse body types, including fat bodies, in marketing visual assets. This helps to normalize the reality that truly all body shapes and sizes belong. Additionally these organizations should be integrating conversations about body size prejudice into their orientations and member conduct guidelines. Lastly, we should be creating platforms for naturists with larger bodies to share their experiences and feelings about the fear and backlash they often receive in regards to their size.
True body positivity isn’t just about your acceptance of your body; it’s about creating a world where every body, regardless of size, is met with equity, respect, and neutrality. When naturist spaces commit to this difficult but necessary work, they won’t just be offering a relaxing day at the pool, they’ll be offering genuine liberation. 🪐
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