A Story of Decent Exposure

Bare with me

It was springtime.

I was twenty-four and had just woken up from a late afternoon nap to see my girlfriend standing in front of the mirror, naked, holding up a shirt in front of herself, trying to decide if it was the right one to wear.

She held up and rejected several options, expressing her fashion dilemma as an exasperated sigh. Playfully pulling a single sequined belt off a hanger, she fastened it around her waist and struck a Vanna White pose in the mirror. We both laughed out loud at her outfit, or lack of it, to be more accurate.

We were living on the second floor of an apartment complex to be near friends who occupied about a dozen of the fifty units. Our entrances faced each other in an inner square with an open air, lushly landscaped courtyard in the center. The upper branches of a willow tree draped itself luxuriously over our door.

Her need to select an outfit was prompted by one of our best friends who was throwing a party that had already begun. To attend, we would need to walk past a few dozen doors to the other side of the upper floor balcony.

I jumped up and said, “This is awesome. You could start your own fashion line and call it Just Belt!” Naked as well, I grabbed one of her sashes and put it on too. We both stood laughing at each other in the mirror—sporting only those belts.

But then came a dreadful, magical moment.

Our laughter abruptly stopped as we both simultaneously received the message. As though a PA system in an airport had just bellowed our names, warning that our gate was about to close and it was time to get on board the plane for take-off without delay.

Without a word exchanged between us we realized that, in fact, we were already perfectly dressed for the party—and that we needed to attend just like this, unclothed.

Don’t ask me why.

It was as though the universe needed two free agents to commit an utterly necessary and comically rebellious act of rule breaking. As though the heart of humanity had stopped and needed a whimsical electric shock to get it started again. And we had somehow been selected to deliver it.

Naked.

It was perhaps the queerest mix of emotion I have experienced in my life, walking out the door and onto the veranda. Bewilderment, excitement, pride, fear, shame—all swirling around my bare form, the cool breeze so wholesomely palpable, head to toe. We began our stroll around the walkway, suppressing the impulse to sprint to our destination.

When our friend answered our knock he didn’t miss a beat. He had carefully curated his image in our tribe as the one who was perpetually cool, calm, and collected. Showing up as we were was only a generous foil for him to further prove it. A gentle, appreciative grin broke out on his face. Unruffled, he welcomed our arrival with unflappable charm.

“Hey everybody, guess who’s here?!” he announced.

We glided past him into the room of thirty guests. The buzz of chatter was a cocoon of good company. Within five seconds of our entrance, the conversation had come to a full stop. The whole room stood agape—staring. Three seconds of silence passed, followed by an outburst of uproarious laughter, high-fives, and each of us being handed a frosty beer.

It was perhaps my most vivid experience of how a few moments can feel like an eternity.

But here’s the thing.

The novelty factor of our nakedness lasted for two minutes.

After that, the reality of our exposure was normalized and no one seemed to care, note, or refer to our act of fashion defiance.

Surviving this episode of naked obedience to a whimsical force left me with a lifetime of appreciation for the question, “How bad can it get?” And specifically, how bad could it be if I show myself? It’s not that I don’t still hesitate or experience fear when contemplating putting myself out there in some way—creatively, emotionally, or physically. It’s just that I have a much more palpable relationship to the question, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

The truth is, everything we think we need to hide everyone has already seen.

We might get up in the morning hoping something new and exciting will transpire. But we’re the ones who are responsible for the renewal of our own spirit from day to day. And such renewal requires the risk of becoming visible in our essence—both to ourselves and to others.

Only you can detect those pivotal moments when you could swap your habit of hiding for authentic expression—admitting when you’ve made a mistake, sharing something you’ve been keeping private from your partner, or writing an article on a subject that you’re afraid not a damn soul will read.

Indecent exposure is impossible if it’s your authenticity you’re showing. You can get naked with your clothes on. In fact, revealing the real you is not only a decent thing to do, it’s a demonstration of dignity to the rest of a hiding world.

Happy spring.