"Where are the younger women in naturism?" - Part 1

Tuesday 6th May 2025 | Societat Naturista

When I think back to how I got into naturism, I remember attending an organised naturist event for the first time and I was surrounded by good, cheerful, happy people—open-minded, respectful, full of inspiring and thought provoking ideas and conversations.

But there was something I couldn’t ignore: I was one of the youngest people in the room. And, one of the few women present. The people —including the few women— present were 20-40 years older than me.

Most of the other younger naturists I met were men. Some younger, but mainly older. Men who seemed completely at ease with their bodies, with who they were and without prejudice or worries about being nude together in a group.

And it made me wonder—why does naturism feel populated predominately by men? And, moreover by older generations?

Where are the younger generations? Where are the younger generations of women? And moreover, the few women in attendance could not possibly be the only ones, right?

The Invisible Gap

4 years on and this question still lingers in my mind.

And when I talk to others about it—especially women in my friendship circle—there’s a moment of quiet, a look of hesitation, and then a kind of sad recognition.

...The (small) want is there but locked away.

It is through my own beliefs and conversations, that the realisation of living in a world that teaches women from a young age to disconnect from our own bodies. We’re told we’re too much and not enough, all at once.

Be confident, but not too confident.

Be sexy, but not sexual.

Show skin, but don’t be shameless.

There’s barely any room left for much else... let alone the thoughts, wants and actions of running around naked in a non-sexual social environment. 

And that’s exactly what naturism and nudism strives to offer—but many women don’t AND won't get close enough to realise it.

Why does it feel weird or not normal to want to be around others naked?

Naturism and nudism has a PR problem, internationally.

For a lot of people—especially young women—it still feels weird. Or radical. Or unsafe. Or just WRONG.

But here’s the truth no one teaches us: we’re not born ashamed of our bodies. That’s something we’re trained into. Bit by bit, from childhood to adulthood, we absorb the idea that our worth is tied to how we look, how we’re seen, how others respond to us. Not how we feel in our own skin.

Naturism - or, social nudity - for me, at least, is a invitation to undo all of that.

To strip away judgement—ours and others’—and to simply exist, comfortably, enjoying life in our own skin. And, be with or around others of whom feel the same.

We Need to Be Seen

I refuse to believe we’re so few.

I refuse to think there aren’t other younger women who, like me, even without feeling completely confident in speaking out and stripping off, enjoy the feeling of sunlight on our skin, of swimming without wet fabric clinging to us, of simply being free—unfiltered and unbothered.

But here’s the thing: if we’re not visible, we stay invisible. If young women don’t see themselves in naturism, they’ll assume it’s not for them.

We need more young women sharing their stories, their discomfort, their joy, their first steps of running naked on the beach, taking their first nude swim, not being scared or ashamed to walk into an organised naturist or nudist event with nothing but a smile on their face.

We need to normalise the idea that you don’t have to love your body to let it breathe.

You can be unsure, scared, and still be welcome. Still belong.

Generational Gaps: Nudity Is Fine, But Naturism?

I was born and raised in Catalonia, where nudity—especially toplessness—is completely normalised on beaches and in public swimming pools. In fact, public toplessness in pools was legalised in 2020**—long before I even had the language to talk about body acceptance or freedom.

And among my friends, it’s totally fine to go to a nudist beach. People are open to that. We did that. We do that. It’s accepted. Even celebrated, as a feminist action and taking back our bodily autonomy.

We did it long before we even knew what “naturism” or “nudism” were. It wasn’t a statement—it was just something that felt good. It felt right. We weren’t thinking about social movements or political positions. We were just… comfortable. Dare I say, happy and excited to strip away our exhibitions.

But the moment the word “organised” or “community” enters the picture, there’s hesitation. Fear. Repulsion.

Why?

Because for many younger people, especially women, nudity is only “normal” when it’s casual, freeform, intimate, and peer-led. The idea of joining a club or going to a designated naturist event feels… outdated. Maybe even intimidating. And, a bit lonely.

There’s this perception that naturist associations belong to an older generation—structured, rule-heavy, maybe even a bit disconnected from the energy of today’s body positivity movement. And let’s be honest, sometimes that perception isn’t wrong.

But it’s also a missed opportunity. Because there is interest, especially in Britain, the United States and Spain, among young people who already practice social nudity—just not within formal settings. We need to build a bridge between the casual and the collective. Between comfort and community.

And to do that, naturist organisations must evolve—not to abandon their values, but to make room for new ones.

** Legal reference: In 1990, Barcelona became the first major city in Spain to explicitly legalise topless bathing in municipal swimming pools, in 2020 this was extended to the whole of Catalonia (including updates in 2023 enforcing fines for prejudicial behaviours), reflecting broader Catalan norms around bodily freedom.

End of Part 1.