Nudism in NY is Changing
Nudism on Long Island always seemed like a bit of a fantasy. It was a decade ago when Fire Island’s nude beach, Lighthouse Beach, was shut down in response to the destruction Hurricane Sandy had done to the boardwalks and beachfront. With no boardwalks to separate the clothing optional fields from the non-nude sections, chief FINS ranger Lena Koschmann determined that enforcing New York’s public nudity laws, which had gone unenforced up until that point, would be a more cost-effective option.
Alongside this change, she also made a point to highlight the increase in lewd activity perpetrated by gay men on the nude beach, giving the decision further justification. This pinned the blame on an easy target, one that in conservative Suffolk County, would make the change more than acceptable. Rather than dedicate resources to protect and reconstruct the boardwalks or consider community feedback, this sweeping change destroyed the last bastion of nudism on Long Island. And it seemed, outside of fringe applications (such as the issue of female toplessness in public spaces), nudism had been quashed in New York, save for the resorts and campgrounds that lie upstate.
This may seem like a relatively tiny footnote in NY history, but to nudists on Long Island, this change has undermined our lifestyle and forced us to plan expensive, distant trips out of state towards New Jersey’s own Gunnison Beach, or upstate towards landed clubs that are becoming increasingly more pricey as inflation continues to rise. Nudism has always been a numbers game; even for something as simple as getting naked, we have to pay for it. As a college student, and as a passionate nudist, it became increasingly dismal thinking how out of grasp social nudity was for me, and for others like me. Even if I could afford to attend a resort half a day away from me, my identity and my politics would force me to abstain from an environment that I’ve learned doesn’t really care for the perspectives of the marginalized.
Then, through a good friend, I found out about Natural Pursuits. Founded by and for queer folk, these simple events bring pockets of nudists from around Long Island together into one space, where we can chat, mingle, and collaborate on artistic projects, most often photography. When I first heard of it, I was intrigued. Efforts to bring social nudity to New York usually falter after a while, especially during the COVID-19 pandemic when it had occupied most of our lives. For one to also be so open and celebratory about our queerness seemed like it was too good to be true. As it turned out, it wasn’t. I just didn’t know it yet.
So I decided to go, tagging along with another nudist buddy of mine, and meeting with our mutual friend and his group at his home in Queens. On the way, we stopped to buy food and drinks at a corner store before setting off to the address sent to our emails. The destination: a cozy duplex apartment in Brooklyn, with rooftop access for those of us so inclined to brave the wet October weather in the nude. We arrived about 20 minutes early, but that didn’t stop our host from welcoming us in and permitting us to shed our clothes, and so we did. Soon enough, more guests arrived at the apartment and the vibe quickly shifted from quiet, timid conversation into boisterous laughter and chatter.
In between the cheer and merry of naked queer folk within the room, I was adjusting myself to meeting so many new faces and putting myself out there as best I could. My own anxieties had always taken over me in past social events; I was and still am a nail biter, and I tend to tremble when in new environments. My own self-loathing over my body, with my acne, my hanging gut, and my rising widow’s peak, made me fear some sort of jab or joke at my appearance from the start. Nothing like that ever occurred. Over the four hours we spent inside the apartment, I had grown accustomed to my nude self, chatting openly about my life and aspirations with others, and even participating in a photo-op or two. What I was witnessing here was something beautiful, something genuine. What I had felt was too good to be true, I was experiencing it.
The organizer of these events, Phillip, mingled with everyone in the duplex, engaging in conversations and capturing moments in candid photographs on his phone. At one point, I ended up in a three-way convo with him and another event-goer. My curiosity was piqued; I asked how did Natural Pursuits come to be? His answer: it started as a joke. We laughed about it briefly before he explained further. New York lacked true queer nudist spaces, and Phillip’s joke soon turned into motivation. Now, Natural Pursuits has a website and an online and print magazine, with virtual events hosted during lockdown and in-person events as soon as restrictions were lifted. Over the span of 4 years and with the help of many collaborators, Phillip has continued to provide LGBTQ+ nudists in New York with a space to express themselves and interact with others in ways the big, expensive resorts just don’t.
By the end of the event, I had found myself so comfortable in myself and welcomed by everybody in attendance, that the only anxiety I felt was when I would inevitably have to dress up and hit the road. Some folks left a bit earlier than us, and I watched them walk out in clothes I couldn’t even remember them wearing after hours of socializing in the buff. Every goodbye felt bittersweet as the crowd slowly thinned out and the bare bodies became censored once more. But in that time, when everyone was naked and free, I had never felt so good in my life.
When I walked out of the apartment and onto the streets of Brooklyn once more, I felt a certain fire within me, something that finally inspired me to write my first blog. The days of Lighthouse Beach and the destruction and homophobia that had shut it down are long behind us, and the nudist movement in New York (and throughout the United States) still has a lot of work to do to adapt to the present day. But through events like Natural Pursuits, where both queer identity is celebrated and shame is left at the door, I feel reinvigorated. Nudism isn’t dead in New York; it’s just becoming more inclusive, more radical, and less prudish.
Please support Natural Pursuits and the work Phillip and his collaborators do through their website and social media.
