The 94-year-old Sunfolk naturist resort has reopened after being taken over by the non-profit British Naturism organization. Mark Berry/British Naturism
“Naturism is about liberating your body and accepting who you are,” says Stéphane Deschênes, a twinkly-eyed Canadian with an impressive white handlebar mustache.
We’re gathered near the hot tub for the opening ceremony at British Naturism: Sunfolk, a 94-year-old naturist site that’s relaunching after a modern makeover.
As president of the International Naturist Federation (INF-FNI), Deschênes has traveled 3,000 miles to St Albans, a small historic city in London’s commuter belt, which is home to three naturist clubs.
The five-acre site is bucolic: cocooned by mature woodland, with landscaped lawns edged by rhododendrons and a tadpole-filled brook.
There’s an inviting new sauna, a heated pool with floats and toys, plus outdoor showers with a full range of toiletries.
Five smart new glamping pods are nearby, as is a campfire area and a clubhouse with a communal kitchen and an honesty bar with snacks, drinks and ready meals.
It feels like a peaceful oasis, just an hour away from the grit and congestion of central London.
Despite the temperamental British weather (gray skies and gooseflesh are a seasonal hazard) most of the 40 or 50 bodies at this summer celebration are duly liberated.
It’s a jolt at first, seeing habitually veiled organs out and about, but it’s easy to make the adjustment — look at faces, like you normally would. And if your eyes strike flesh when glancing downwards, slide them courteously right.
Before long, the naked bodies feel as natural a part of the scenery as the veteran trees that have been surveying this site for close to a century.
‘Time has moved on’
Mark Bass, president of British Naturism, wearing a tool belt to hold his microphone set, addresses the crowd of naturists, some as young as their 20s, but most in midlife or older.
Years of work have gone into restoring the Sunfolk site to the charm of its post-World War II heyday, when parties were common and archive photographs show happy naked families thronging the site.
“Time has moved on,” he says. “The attitude towards actually joining societies, joining clubs, has waned.”
Membership of national naturist organizations is in decline around the world. Even in Germany, home of the trailblazing “Free Body Culture” (FKK) movement, city councils have been reducing their number of clothing-free naturist beaches.
Although social nudity has a long history, the modern naturist movement developed in Europe in the late 19th century and gained popularity throughout the world in the 1920s and 1930s.
While naturism is about freedom of the body, explains Deschênes, it’s not about decadent abandon.
“You feel free from the shackles, the bonds, of society, in terms of body shame and everything else,” he says. “But, arguably, naturist environments have more rules than mainstream society in a lot of ways.”
Naturism’s utopian ideals of non-sexual social nudity are founded on respect, community, egalitarianism and harmony with nature.
In today’s era of OnlyFans and rampant individualism, those values can seem prim or quaint, particularly for younger people who don’t want to disrobe alongside people from their parents’ or grandparents’ generation.
However, it’s by no means time for naturism to get its coat.
A century on from the movement’s peak, there are in fact several factors suggesting Western society could be ripe for a nude renaissance.
Growing appetite for nude recreation
In 2022, an independent survey commissioned by British Naturism found that a surprising 14% of UK adults defined themselves as naturists or nudists, up from previous British Naturism surveys, which found 6% in 2011 and 2% in 2000.
For the survey, naturists were defined as people who engaged in activities such as sunbathing or swimming without clothes.
In the UK, at least, it seems there is a significant hidden appetite for getting bare and breezy. Around the world, we’re also in a boom time for opportunities for nude recreation, from naked yoga classes to clothing-optional cruises to flesh-friendly festivals.
Traditional club membership might be in decline, but there has also been a huge diversification in the clothing-free lifestyle.
The British Naturism calendar alone is chock-a-block with activities every day. They lean wholesome and outdoorsy: swimming competitions, pottery classes and country walks with the Stark Trekkers rambling group.
Today we also have social factors which echo those of the early 20th century and the first naturism boom.
“People had suffered horrifically with our First World War,” says Bass of the first naturists at Sunfolk. “They’d been very restricted, and they were just looking for freedom. They wanted to reclaim their lives.”
Spielplatz, a naturist resort and residential village next door to Sunfolk — tagline: “The place to be when you have nothing on!” — was also founded at this time.
“If we think about where we are now, we see very similar things,” says Bass. “We’ve seen Covid and those restrictions, we’ve seen restrictions that we find in ordinary lives.
“Across society, we are facing a mental health pandemic because we are constantly told we are not good enough, that we don’t look the right way, and many of us are struggling with our mental health. Naturism isn’t going to fix that, but it can be a big part of the solution.”
‘Protecting naturist spaces’
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