From A Nude Perspective

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No sooner had I been asked to write a “Nude Perspective” piece for the new Nude Café web site, than I read that a real life restaurant in New York has started serving nude diners, which is as uncanny a case of life following art as you’re likely to find outside the pages of “The Da Vinci Code”! 

Apparently, the group’s organisers wanted something a bit more elegant than the wilderness getaways and beach resorts they generally frequent on nudist breaks. “When you go away on holiday it’s more you’re roughing it in the woods, whereas this is a really nice restaurant,” said one of the party. 

Which is fine if the thought of un - dressing for dinner turns you on; personally, given the choice between dining on lobster thermidor in a swish restaurant with my kit off, or grazing at McDonalds fully clothed, I’ll take the Big Mac and fries every time – and I don’t like hamburgers! 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against eating whilst naked; as a life-long nudist I’ve lunched in the buff at resorts and beaches from Palm Springs to Perth and thought nothing of it. But, on those occasions I was already naked, at a nudist venue, and it was altogether natural and appropriate, given the setting. Ambience is everything, and to wander out of the sun into a cool beach side restaurant at some sun drenched nudist resort and lunch au naturelle is just the thing to do on a sweltering day, and I’ll do it again whenever I can.   

But I can't, for the life of me, see the attraction in fighting my way through the Manhattan traffic on a dismal February evening to get to a restaurant – however plush – just so that as soon as I arrive I can strip off.  Frankly, I just don’t get the point. 

It is, of course a purely personal thing, but dining out in an uptown restaurant is more than going for a meal – for me it’s an event. It means dressing to the nines, with my make up just so and an outrageously expensive slinky dress that makes me feel like a million dollars. It means fine perfume, and my best jewellery. It’s the pleasure I get from seeing that my partner and friends have prepared themselves for the evening with the same care and pride. It’s about elegance, and luxury. It’s about ambience 

To arrive and dump my clothes into a plastic bag just doesn’t have the same distinction. 

Ah well, each to his own; at least the waiting staff and the chef remained clothed. It’s something to do with hygiene regulations, which is just as well too; tables are about the same height as a man’s groin and I’ve attended enough nude barbeques to know that the sight of a naked man, standing at a table with his – how shall I say this ­-- equipment dangling centimetres above the dish of the day can put you right off your food. 

But enough of this; I see that I’m in danger of becoming a bore. (Long time readers of mine may recall that in previous “perspectives” I’ve banged off in a similar manner about nude discos and nude pubs. It must be my age.) 

Anyway, I wish ‘em well. They obviously gain a lot of pleasure from their pastime – as well as a slap-up feed - and the restaurant gains revenue and some free publicity, so I suppose everyone wins. I personally still fail to see the point, but I’m prepared to be educated; if you think you can enlighten me I’d be more than happy to hear from you.

Just don’t invite me to dinner!

Regards

Liz   

liz@thenudecafe.com
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