Buttoned-up Britons are finally embracing the nudist beach

Telegraph

04-03-2025

Last week naturists got their knickers in a twist – the ones wearing any, that is.
A parish council erected a signpost that outlawed nudity at Cotton Beach near Lowestoft. 'Lewd behaviour will not be tolerated,' warned the parish prudes. It turns out the council ban was a storm in a D-cup.
According to the Crown Prosecution Service, bathing in your birthday suit is a harmless and completely legal pursuit.
Enjoying nature au naturel is growing in popularity too. British Naturism spokesman Andrew Welch puts 'the huge amount of acceptance today' down to a desire to celebrate real bodies in a digitally perfect world.
'Our assessment is that if more people got to know what a real human being looked like, there'd be fewer body confidence issues, which can even lead to suicide.'
According to an Ipsos poll, around 39 per cent of Brits have enjoyed some form of public nudity.
It helps that British Naturism has promoted the pastime without the strident willy-waving of some charities. The organisation invites all-comers to its naked rambles, bare-all boat trips and Nudefest, a week-long festival with music.
In fact, this news story is a century old. In 1929 Charles Macaskie opened a nude resort in virgin Hertfordshire woodland as a leafy antidote to industrial London. Macaskie was inspired by German ideas of Freikörperkultur (which translates as 'free body culture'), a movement dedicated to outdoor wellness. He called his nudist utopia Spielplatz, which means 'Playground'.
Spielplatz residents came for freedom, not politics. In the 1950s the resort attracted druids, Wiccans and vegetarians – free-thinkers in a buttoned-up post-war world. Today the club offers glamping breaks and even lunchtime swims for time-pressed nudists. 'Before the Victorians,' continues Welch, 'the concept of having a special set of clothing just to go and get it wet would have been as laughable as some people find being naked now.'
Naturism's journey to acceptance has navigated choppy water. During the discontent of 1979, for example, Brighton councillor Eileen Jakes tabled a motion to reserve 200 yards of shingle for naked bathers in order to boost tourism. To prove the concept worked, Jakes passed around topless photos of herself taken in Ibiza.
Fellow Brighton councillor John Blackman was having none of it. 'A flagrant exhibition of mammary glands,' Blackman thundered. 'What distresses me is that people naively believe what is good for the Continent is good for Britain.'
In my experience as a naturist, the Continent has always had a rosy indifference to nudity. Textile-free beaches in the Balearics are Edens for all ages. In Germany, most thermal spas are nude.
At bare-all campsites like Koversada in Croatia, happy campers perform aquarobics and windsurfing in the buff, as if they've simply forgotten to get dressed that morning. Accoutrements associated with naked bathing in Britain – knotted hankies, dirty postcards, Sid James – are anathema to our continental cousins.
A handful of naturist destinations, like Cap d'Agde in the South of France, are swinger-orientated. You don't have to erect a tentpole to understand what goes on at the campsite. If you get caught in someone's gaze, while they suggestively fist-pump a Calippo, it can only mean one thing.
By comparison British naturist beaches like St Osyth in Essex, with its tickle-your-cheeks sand, have an Adam and Eve innocence. Unless your OnlyFans preference is for middle-aged couples holding hands behind a windbreak, the scene is decidedly unsexy. Compare that to the widespread availability of pornography, which promotes body perfection and – in some cases – sexual violence. A windswept nude beach seems like a beacon of tolerance by contrast.
Perhaps that's why the liberty of strolling starkers along the sand is appealing to a new generation. Like nudism pioneer Macaskie a century ago, swapping the confines of capitalism for the freedom of nature has evergreen appeal.
'There's something incredibly liberating about stripping away not just clothes,' agrees Estelle Keeber, a social media expert, 'but all the pressures and expectations that come with them.' Keeber is fairly new to naturism but has become a keen advocate. 'It's amazing how much body confidence and self-acceptance you gain when you start seeing yourself (and others) as just people, without all the filters.' When clothes are discarded, egos follow.
Since starting her new Instagram account @nakedadventurewithme, Keeber found it 'eye-opening to connect with so many like-minded people'. She is excited about the Great British Skinny Dip, a series of wild swims organised by British Naturism and the British Heart Foundation. Keeber has found a sense of tribal belonging. Albeit within a tribe that seldom turns on their washing machine.
For Brits, naturism quite simply means a return to nature – an opportunity to bathe, birdwatch or camp in the nude. In these straightened times, participants don't even need to buy a new bikini. Just a bottle of SPF 50.