(Picture: Charlotte Cockell)

My wife and I don’t have a bucket list. But there are certain things that we’ve both always wanted to do – and visiting a nudist beach was one of them.

If this seems like a strange thing to be in anyone’s personal collection of things to do before you die, I should point out that it’s probably in the blood.

My extended family has its own nudist contingent – something we always regarded as an oddity when I was growing up, until I actually grew up and realised it was perfectly normal.

So when we were looking around for things to do on our recent visit to Swanage, in Dorset, it seemed like an obvious choice.




And that’s the conversation I’m recalling in my head as we trudge along a lengthy stretch of sand in search of the one we planned to visit.

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Off the beaten track

We’re at Knoll Beach in Studland Bay – one of the most prominent nudist beaches in the country, and situated (like the bulk of them) along the south coast, presumably because it’s warmer.

Studland may be renowned for its naturist area, but that’s what it is – an area. The entire beach is two and a half miles long, but the nudist bit takes up less than half of that. Still, at 900m, it’s pretty hefty.

You also have to walk to it – the car park is some distance from the naturist section, which is clearly marked by signs.

When we eventually arrive, the place is quiet. It’s still comparatively early. A swift, hopefully unintrusive glance at the people in this area of the beach is enough to confirm that we are definitely, unambiguously in the right spot.

In the first instance, it’s important to note that nudism is optional, and not mandatory.

It works the opposite way on ‘vanilla’ beaches too. Technically, sunbathing nude isn’t illegal – what matters is the intent and circumstances under which it occurs.

On this beach, however, it’s no holds barred, in the literal sense (and no, I’m not quite sure what I mean by that either).

And with that, off come the clothes.

People you don’t know

At first it simply feels weird – as if you forgot to do something, like get dressed. And you wonder if anyone is staring.

But I’m reminded of the episode of Friends where Rachel is embarrassed by Phoebe’s flamboyant running style – basically she jogs like a Muppet (specifically, ‘a cross between Kermit the Frog and The Six Million Dollar Man’).

When Rachel complains that people were staring, Phoebe points out that it’s ‘people that you don’t know and will never see again’.

It would be Sod’s law that I run into the local vicar down here, but it doesn’t happen.

Your first reaction after disrobing is inevitable. ‘Is this OK? Is it legal? Am I going to get into trouble?’



You keep imagining a police officer suddenly appearing out of nowhere, covering you up with his truncheon (oo-er), followed by a public indecency prosecution.

What’s more, you find yourself glancing up at the people walking past, who are deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

The British Naturist Beach Code (yes, really, it’s a thing) tells you to ‘avoid confronting or approaching textiles’ – the naturist equivalent of Muggles.

But soon you realise that no one is looking at you, just as you are not looking at them. The dog-walkers and strolling couples have eyes for the ocean, or each other. They’ve seen the warning signs promising Naturists Beyond This Point, and they’re still here – so they can’t care that much.

Nobody, as far as I can make out, is sneakily angling the lens of an iPhone (although why on earth would you want to take a photo of random naked strangers, unless that was what turned you on?).

And those people who are already here are obviously seasoned veterans, as uninterested in you as they would be if you were sunbathing anywhere else.

Naturism does not seem to lead to any form of communal togetherness, at least not here. There’s no casual chatting, no comparing of equipment (no, beach equipment, you filthy monkey). We’re British – we don’t do that sort of thing, right?

Meanwhile, I am discovering one of the advantages of beachwear: it prevents the sand from getting to places that it would otherwise be able to reach.


Back to nature

We head for a swim. This is possibly not a good idea. The ocean is cold, whatever the time of year.

But if you pick your spots it’s not so bad. This is not the North Sea in November: it’s the English channel at the end of May. (August would be better, but I’ll take what I can get.)

Once you’ve got over the initial cold (and the worry about being stung by a jellyfish in possibly the most painful area of them all) then it’s incredibly liberating.

I said that you don’t commune with the other beachgoers, but being naked on the beach – and particularly in the sea – really is naturist in the strictest sense of the word. It feels like you’re getting back to nature.

What’s more, there’s none of that awkwardness when you come out and dry yourself off: you’re trying desperately to rub yourself down with a towel, and also use said towel as a modesty blanket so that no one sees anything untoward.

Here, you’re free to throw caution to the wind. And on a warm day, you don’t even need the towel – the sun does all the work.

Oh, and there’s no damp swimwear to hang up (or, if you’re me, leave festering overnight because you forgot about it). Result!

An ageing population

In the meantime, I’ve noticed something: besides us, there is nobody on this beach under fifty.

That’s a snap judgement – I don’t know, maybe there’s an early bird special – but rudimentary research backs it up. Depending on what websites you visit, the average age in nudist clubs and organisations looks to be between 50 and 60.


Why is this? Is it about worrying what other people think? Do older people get to the stage where they just don’t care anymore?

Or is it a millennial thing? Is this generation just more naturally inhibited? (I really don’t think it is; I’ve seen the documentaries.)

In any event, the age gap is probably not a bad thing as far as the people at Studland are concerned. I’m not sure how the beach’s resident nudists would cope with a sudden influx of noisy, alcohol-fuelled twenty-somethings.

Would we do it again?

We already did. We went back the same evening. It was a little chillier, but no less fun.

And we’re already looking at other beaches we might visit on future excursions.

Here’s the bottom line: having spent years dithering about the whole thing, I’ve decided naturism is not scary, or indecent, or even particularly kooky. It’s just a thing people do.

You can practice it without being exhibitionist – my only reason for writing this piece in the first place was to show how utterly normal it is.

Granted, it’s not for everyone. But if you’re unsure, I’d urge you to abandon your fears and preconceptions – you may discover you really like it.

Just make sure you shower afterwards, and quickly. That sand gets everywhere.

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