Although every one of us enters this beautiful, ruined world naked, sometimes it’s hard to believe that nudity is our natural state. Being born is the one true leveler, the last time most of us will ever arrive in a room lacking the social signifiers that clothing confers. For a few heady moments we’re free—free!—before they bring in the onesies and the teensy beanies and booties and swaddle our shame in respectability.
From then on, being naked is reserved for a few sanctioned occasions in life: bathing, sex, maybe sleeping. But some people demand more liberation from the shirts and pants and ties that bind. Last summer, my husband Adam and I decided to join a few thousand of those people on vacation. Call them naturists, nudists, exhibitionists, perverts—the guests at Koversada, one of Croatia’s largest nudist resorts, don’t really seem to care what labels the outside world chooses to place on them. They’re too busy working on their all-over tans and disconcertingly harmonious relationships.
Source: Nudists Always Play Volleyball
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