You could be fined £130 for going shirtless in France this summer

Telegraph

2 days ago

The French are once again in a lather about what to wear at the seaside. This is less of a problem in Britain, where penguins in duffel coats may still feel chilly by Morecambe Bay.
In summertime southern France, it is quite possible to take one's shirt off without turning blue. And that's OK on the beach. Almost obligatory, really. Problems arise when shirtless folk leave the beach to amble into town – along the prom, into shops, maybe even into bars and restaurants.
Even in friskier resorts like Cannes, St Tropez and La Grande Motte, people have apparently had enough of these strolling nude torsos. Councils are cracking down.
So are they in other frolicsome spots: Nice, Palavas, Cassis, Arcachon. Go shirtless off the beach round there and you risk a €150 (£130) fine.
The mayor of Les Sables-d'Olonne, Yannick Moreau, reportedly explained: 'The Sablais don't want people walking around half-naked.' The Sablais are clearly not alone.
The brouhaha comes in the wake of equal excitement about the question of female toplessness on the beach itself.
Not long ago, on a Med beach near Perpignan, police officers ordered three ladies to cover up. There had been a complaint from a nearby family. Cue national outrage from all corners. Requiring women to cover up was a threat to liberty, French culture and perhaps even the national identity.
Ironically, the victory for toplessness – for victory it proved to be – came as reports suggested that fewer and fewer French women favoured going topless. Apparently, this was due to fears of skin cancer, ogling, and worries about online 'breast-shaming' – yet another moronic trend for which social media is responsible.
More irksome yet, however, has been the matter of burkinis. Created in 2004 by an Australian of Lebanese origin, the burkini is a swimsuit which covers all bar the face, feet and hands.
Its appearance on French beaches has outraged many. Some 20 resorts have tried to ban its wearing on the grounds either of hygiene and security (yes, me neither) or because it manifests a religious affiliation.
This always struck me as odd. Telling women what to wear is what they do in totalitarian states, not democracies. And, if we truly are in a conflict of cultures, this is an absurdly trivial element. (Richard the Lionheart before Acre: 'Hold the siege, fellows; we need to sort out the swimwear.') And what of nuns, who I've seen gaily playing soccer in full habit – veil, cap, the works – on a Languedoc beach?
At any event, the courts subsequently overturned all the bans, so burkini fans are in the clear. Which brings us back to the shirtless issue. (Women are involved, too; they are required to don a T-shirt or shirt and not wander about in just bikini tops.)
Aesthetically, this is clearly a win. I have been seated next to large, shirt-free men in seaside cafés and been obliged to re-think my approach to boeuf bourguignon. Sadly, even in France, not all men are ripped like the new-look Sacha Baron Cohen. Some – many – are tankers, widened by over-exposure to foie gras, pâté-en-croûte and chocolate mousse.
There is, though, a strange irony at work here, too – for France is generally pretty good at near-nakedness. In Paris, the Crazy Horse and Moulin Rouge welcome families with stages full of bare flesh.
The great Josephine Baker became the highest paid female entertainer of the inter-war years, initially by dancing topless.
In truth, France is gifted at full nakedness, too. Following Germany's lead, naturism kicked off in France in the 1920s thanks to two brothers, both doctors.
Andre and Gaston Durville promoted 'psycho-naturism' – healthy eating, physical and mental exercise, exposure of the body to the air and sun – first on a Seine river island near Paris, then on Île du Levant off Hyères in the Med.
Subsequently, France has evolved into the world's number-one naturist nation. Some 460 sites annually host around two million French people (and about as many foreign visitors).
It's been tolerated for decades, and finally gained a basis in law in 1994. Naturism is legal in designated, restricted zones. (Strip off elsewhere and the fine is up to €15,000/£13,000). One of these zones remains the Île du Levant, now a real naturist settlement with hotels, restaurants and nudity obligatory only by the sea.
It's optional in the village. I was there once, had a look round fully clothed, chatted with a fat fellow naked except for a cap – he looked like a space hopper with a hat – and returned to the boat.
I'm happy that people enjoy that kind of life, happy that there are places where they can lead it and very happy indeed that I shall never have to go back.
I'm happy too that France's tolerance of (semi-) nakedness remains measured, so will be keeping the shirtless out of my way as I saunter the sea-front at La Grande Motte or Palavas-les-Flots. In truth, I'd really like the local authorities to go much further, on the sea-front but also on the beach.
France has already, since late June, got rid of smoking on beaches. I'd also insist that tattoos be covered up and speedos too, possibly with a three-piece suit – the only decent way to present the average male body.
I'd put a stop to beach music (notably half-wits strumming guitars under the mistaken impression that they are wandering minstrels), to mobiles, to frisbees, and to the shaking out of towels, thus creating sandstorms.
I'd also like to end all beach sports – except cricket, which I'd impose. It's long past time that the French embraced a civilised summer sport which didn't involve biking about the country, holding up the traffic.
I'd further like to impose the wearing of whites – but that's maybe a long shot. Better let the shirtless thing bed in first.