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I’m ON a beach on the Costa Brava. The sand is smooth and white, the sea is turquoise and clear, and there is naked flesh everywhere.

It is impossible to escape. There are families running around with bits dangling, older couples with lined folds and bronzed women slathering their bodies in factor 30. No matter where I turn I’m confronted with bums and boobs.

The sight is overwhelming. I have never seen so much nudity. In my normal London life the closest I get to public undressing is in the yoga changing rooms, or the occasional topless sunbathing session at the Hampstead ladies’ pond — where you have to put your bikini back on before you go for a swim.

In Spain that would be unthinkable: everyone goes topless on the beach, even when it’s in the centre of Barcelona. Most major beaches across the 8,000km coastline have dedicated nudist areas. Locals think nothing of stripping off on their balconies for a quick siesta/sunbathe, or skinny-dipping in a river mid-hike. As one friend told me — while standing naked at the top of a waterfall with families swimming below — “Estamos en España!” (no one cares).

Unfortunately, I care. I am new to Spain, having moved here to spend the summer in Barcelona, and while I’m in awe of my friends’ liberated lives I’m still adjusting. Which is why they’re all sunbathing naked I’m clinging onto my bikini.

I’m too self-conscious to whip them off — but at the same time I’ve overly-conscious of the fact that I’m one of the only people on this beach who doesn’t have their bum out.

I decide to start by embracing the topless life (baby steps) and take in my surroundings. I’ve never seen such a variety of bodies — or pubic hair styles. There are women with huge, sagging breasts. Women with flat chests. Men and women with large, round, oval, pointy, dark, light nipples. One woman eats her ice cream naked in the sea. Her friends join her.

It feels like the IRL version of scrolling through body-positive accounts on Instagram. None of these bodies look like Gigi Hadid — and no one cares.

The acceptance of their bodies is infectious and I wonder why I’ve spent the whole day refusing to shed my bikini bottoms.

The following weekend I’m the first to suggest a trip to another nudist beach. This time, I strip off before anyone else and dive straight into the sea. It feels amazing — there’s a childish freedom of swimming naked, and I wonder what I was so scared of.

Looking at my body in the water I start to appreciate its physical functionality in a way I haven’t for years. I forget that it’s unusual to be naked in public and find myself engaging in small-talk with strangers.

There is a moment when the wave of self-consciousness comes back. An attractive man comes up to chat to me in the sea and I realise we’re flirting in the buff. But he’s so relaxed about it (he’s Spanish) that I forget to find it weird that he’s seen me naked before we’ve even exchanged numbers.

If anything it feels empowering. I make it my mission to go to as many playas nudistas as I can this summer.

I no longer scrutinise my body so much, wishing it was more toned and sculpted. I don’t bother packing a bikini for the beach and I don’t worry about waxes and stretch marks because no one here does. But, more importantly, I’ve recognised that the societal standard of being “tall, trim, toned” is dull. All bodies are beautiful — especially when they’re eating ice cream in their birthday suits.