2DO Before I Die

The Trickle-Down Effect

Last weekend it was hot. The unexpected return to summer weather left me uncomfortably overdressed.  So what did I do? I removed a layer, baring my arms to everyone in the city (including my boyfriend) as we strolled along the South Bank.& I unexpectedly ran into some friends and though I still felt a bit uneasy having so much flesh on display, I made no attempts to put the cardigan back on or to make my excuses and escape. I did the same again this morning on the tube. If nothing else, I’ve certainly become a bit less shy of choosing comfort over my outmoded ideas of decency. So that’s a victory, I think, which I can only attribute to my recent daring feat of nudity.  Perhaps my body comfort levels have risen somewhat.

Another significant change happened during a recent wardrobe clear-out.  I stumbled across a truly lovely dress that I’ve been holding onto since my teenage years, in the hopes that I might some day be able to fit into it again.  This gown has moved continents with me and has taken up space in every bedroom I’ve ever called home.  I’ve always looked on it as one of those items that I would never part with.  But suddenly I realised that it’s extremely unlikely (and perhaps unhealthy) for a thirty-year-old woman to fit into a dress she wore at nineteen.  So it went fairly painlessly into the bag for the charity shop, along with some unrealistic body goals. 

Just before I gave the dress a last kiss goodbye, I noticed its minute size and especially its tiny waist.  I was incredibly surprised by this because I can remember not being happy with my body at the time when I could easily fit into that dress.  I was probably a very healthy size but somehow even then I felt discontented with myself.

But that’s all changing now.  Onwards and upwards.

Hot Nude Lady

Now there's a title to stimulate the search engines!  My mother would probably have a heart attack if she knew that I was posting a naked picture of myself on the internet.  But I am assured by those in the art world that it's not my body that I'm posting, but rather the artist's interpretation of my essence.

So here's the cold hard proof of my endeavour for you to savour and enjoy. That's me in all my glory. Of course, I realise you have no way of knowing that it's really me.  It could be a gross exaggeration or a misrepresentation of my corporeal reality (though I think we can all safely assume that I probably wouldn't post it if it was a deeply unflattering view of the truth).  But I do think it's a pretty good likeness and I take pleasure in looking at it.  I wish I had copies of all the artists' work.  There was a really nice one in black charcoal that I wish I'd been able to keep.  Perhaps I should look into techniques for concealing a little camera somewhere on my person (no lewd suggestions please!).

I must sheepishly admit that I don't actually have permission to post this picture here.  The drawing was given to me by a lovely artist after my modelling session and I'm afraid I don't know her name or how to contact her to obtain her consent.  (So artist lady in the grey suit, if you're reading this, please let me know if you'd like to be credited for your work!)

For the rest of you, feast your eyes on that flesh!  I held that vulnerable position for forty minutes for the benefit of twelve strangers.  I feel proud to think of it.  I would definitely do more modelling if I could lie down the whole time!

The Aftermath

I am reliably informed by certain qualified professionals that I have been suffering from shock.  The whole naked modelling episode was so terrifying that I basically just checked out.  I'm beginning to thaw now but it all seems like a bizarre dream.  Fortunately I am finally starting to feel a bit proud of my mad achievement, though bragging about it seems fairly unlikely as people just tend to stare at me blankly whenever I divulge the details of my feat.  Brave?  Yes.  Crazy?  Quite possibly.

For the more curious amongst you, I can reveal that I did nine different poses - four for five minutes each, two for ten minutes, one for twenty minutes and two for forty minutes.  I'd done a great deal of research beforehand (I found this site especially helpful) and practiced all my poses to make sure I'd be relatively comfortable.  I was planning to recline for both of the longest positions but I had to alter that when the second model turned up.  So I spent forty minutes dangling uncomfortably off a stool while my foot went so numb that I was convinced it would never regain feeling or motion.  It was at that moment that I decided I wasn’t having fun.

I can only describe the whole experience as surreal.  On my arrival, I had donned a dressing gown to let the body breathe a bit and soften the boundaries between naked and clothed.  When the workshop leader gave me the nod, I slipped out of that last layer and headed straight for the centre of the room to assume my first pose.  At the time I felt strangely relaxed (read: detached) but looking back, I wonder if my discomfort and awkwardness were obvious to the artists.  On the surface I assumed a guise of calm and professionalism, but underneath a battle was raging.  The fight or flight response was going at full pelt, and I think my brain decided that the only way to get out of that situation alive and intact was to rattle off meaningless thoughts for the full three hours as if this horrendous thing wasn't actually happening.  I suppose it worked.  I got through it and I'm glad I did it but it sure wasn't easy on the system.  I feel like I've just lived through some traumatic event and need time to recover physically.

It seems too early to tell if the psychological effects will be as great as the physical impact.  I wish I could say that I am now completely comfortable with my body but sadly that's not yet the case.  Perhaps there will be something of a trickle-down effect and gradually the confidence will come.  It surely must have sent some kind of message to the subconscious that I was willing to bare myself in that way.  And of course, none of the artists ran out of the room screaming as I had feared.  Come to think of it, no one was physically sick at the sight of my flesh; in fact, no one even look shocked.  It was all so very natural, as if my body was just a body and not a horrendous abomination after all.  That certainly does offer some relief.

Once I'm certain that I've regained full control of my faculties, I may post one of the drawings here.

Victory! (and The Morning After)

I held onto my nerve and dropped my clothing!  I stripped. I posed.  I conquered.  Or something like that. 

I've got to be honest with you here.  I expected to be elated.  I thought I'd be making a big, celebratory post and shouting it from the rooftops the way I did with my much mentioned skydive.  But the truth is I just feel sort of numb.  Perhaps I'm still in shock that I had the courage to carry it out and that when the time came it was actually not that scary. 

Don't get me wrong.  It wasn't easy.  First of all, I discovered that I perspire a bit when I get nervous.  In other words, my armpits expel moisture to cool my organism - and let's just say that sweat trickling down a naked body isn't exactly a good look.  Oh, and a fly landed on my back at one point.  I don't know where it came from, but I was frozen in a pose when I felt a flicker of movement across my exposed flesh.  At first I thought it was just another bead of sweat, but it moved up instead of down.  I kept my composure, thinking the artists might be excited to capture this commingling of insect and human, but luckily they suggested I maintain my dignity by dropping the pose to brush it off.  There were other distractions as well - builders on the roof, a rock band rehearsing upstairs, latecomers jostling their easels into position, mobiles buzzing in bags, and another model arriving late thus forcing me to modify some of my carefully rehearsed poses and adjust to the strange fact that suddenly I wasn't alone in my nudity.  But mostly this external action was a welcome break from the barrage of noise in my brain.

I must have been thinking a lot because the time went really quickly and I only got into real trouble on one of the longest poses when my foot fell asleep and my leg went numb.  In the end, it was all pretty tolerable and just fine.  I didn't even feel at all emotional until I saw some of the drawings at the end.  For some reason it was very moving to recognise my face on a voluptuous naked body.  I felt proud.  One of the artists very kindly offered me her drawings as a souvenir (as she had no storage space at home).  And I was invited to join the Register of Artists' Models.  I'm not entirely keen to pose again soon but I think I'll join for a year at least so I can have the option to repeat this mad experience if it turns out there's more to discover.   

Now I need time to recover and digest.  I'll let you know if/when the elation kicks in.

The Final Countdown

OH MY GOD!!!  Tomorrow is the big day and I'm having more than my fair share of reservations.  Panic has set in (again).  I cannot possibly pose naked in front of a group of staring strangers for three whole hours!  I might die of embarrassment! 

But there's no getting out of it now.  The die is cast and I must do this grave deed.  Oh how I dearly wish I'd been to the gym more frequently of late (perhaps five times a day!).  I wish I was lithe and tan and worthy of baring my assets.  But I guess that would defeat the purpose somewhat - as the goal is to show myself as I am.  So it's time for me to grin and bare it. 

Please let my nerve hold and let me not soil myself in fear!  Wish me luck! 

Not long now...

It's less than a week now until the great undressing (the big day is Wednesday 30th).  Yesterday on my way to the gym I ran into Gok Wan, the presenter of the aforementioned How to Look Good Naked.  Though I've read quite a few negative dissections of the show recently (including a blog that suggests the programme should more accurately be titled "How to Look Fashionable in Strategically Engineered Underwear") I'm still taking my chance meeting down a dark alleyway with the presenter as a good sign. 

Aside from infrequent flashes of anxiety whenever I ponder the reality of the approaching day, I'm really feeling rather relaxed about the whole thing.  I even found myself laughing when I revealed the mad plan to a friend the other day.  I've made it a priority to chase fear-inducing activities this year, so feelings of panic and dread now have less of a hold on me.  Ever since the skydive (sorry but I just can't stop tooting my own horn on that one!), I know that even sheer terror can't stop me from doing something once I've set my mind to it.  So despite my severe trepidation, I feel certain there's very little chance that I will run screaming out of the room next week.

The thing I'm most nervous about at the moment is being able to hold still.  At least one of the poses has to last for forty minutes.  I'm not the best at being motionless, so I've been practicing a few positions to make sure I can hold them for that long without extreme discomfort.  If I get any good at it, perhaps I could get a job as one of those "living statues" in Covent Garden when this is all over!

Not a Nudist

I wimped out of going to the nudist club.  I couldn’t convince anyone to come with me, and somehow it didn’t seem like the smartest plan to travel on my own to the middle of nowhere for a naked party in the company of strangers.  I know it’s unfair of me to equate nudism with sexual perversion, but I just couldn’t shake my fears that this whole naturism thing is a front to lure unsuspecting victims to deserted areas where they willingly remove their clothing before being violated in unmentionable ways prior to the inevitable murder or a lifetime of sex slavery.  And the fact that the club in question didn’t respond to the email I sent in an attempt to allay my fears did not bode well.  I suppose this goes right to the heart of my nudity issues; somehow in my mind, enjoying being naked is synonymous with being some sort of perverted psycho - an idea that might be dispelled by a trip to a naturist club, if only I didn’t think those places were full of the aforementioned psychos. 

So I think I’ll stick with Plan A and reserve my undressing for the naked modelling session next week.  Artists seem a safer audience than naturists.  Also, I like the idea of confronting my fear in the most daunting way possible.  It’s one thing to be naked with a bunch of flesh lovers dawdling by the poolside, but another thing entirely to pose naked for several hours in front of a room of fully-clothed artists peering intently at every bump and fold.  The psychotic pervert issue aside, the second option sounds much more frightening and is therefore the course of action I’d prefer to pursue.  The scarier the challenge, the greater its potential outcome.  So it’s full steam ahead for the modelling.

Resources

I've been watching the reality show How to Look Good Naked which encourages normal women to "stop comparing your body shape to something fake and start loving what Mother Nature has given you".  I like that idea.  I guess that's what this challenge is all about for me - accepting myself as I actually am right now.  And it's always good to have an excuse to watch a bit of trashy television!  Mind you, that show is helpful rather than trashy, but I digress...

I've also been spending a lot of time browsing the wise words on the Campaign for Real Beauty website. According to their global study, only 2% of women would describe themselves as beautiful, 90% of women are unhappy with some aspect of their appearance, and at least 67% of women let their poor body image stop them from doing certain "life-engaging" activities (like swimming, eating in public, going to the doctor, or voicing an opinion).  I don't mean to get all heavy on you, but those statistics are pretty depressing.  What a shame to let a negative view of yourself stop you from doing something necessary or fun.  I do this all the time.  And it seems that I'm in good company. 

Somehow it's a relief to know that I'm not the only one who hates my body.  And realising that there's actually nothing at all wrong with the bodies of other women who hate themselves gives me a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there's nothing actually wrong with me either.  So this study has convinced me (once again) of my need for this naked challenge.  I'm going to "behave like a person who is comfortable with her body" and see what happens.  Nudist clubs, here I come!

Searching for Guidance

As the day of my undressing approaches (T minus three weeks and counting!), I've kicked into research overdrive.  I've been reading all the articles I can get my hands on about becoming an artist's model.  It seems that I'm on to something here, as I'm not the first person to try life modelling as an "extreme form of therapy" for poor body image.  And if it worked for Rosemarie Orwin of Swindon, then it could work for me!

I've also been reading a lot about naturism and I'm half convinced to try an afternoon at a naturist club in preparation for the big day.  I suppose I might as well learn from the pros!  There don't seem to be any clubs in London (perhaps city folk don't like to stip off as much as their country counterparts?) but I've located a few clubs just outside the city.  If I can work up the nerve, I'm going to give it a go.

The First Flash of Flesh

I went to Rome for the weekend. I mention this not simply to brag about my eventful life, but because, following some suggestions in comments on previous posts, I experimented with various degrees of undress while I was there. I figure the best place to flash the flesh is in a foreign country where I’m unlikely to run into anyone I know.

On the first night, I went to a beach party where (between cocktails and dancing to cheesy Euro pop) the lithe, tanned Italian women were taking to the water in their bikinis. I was desperate for a swim but hadn’t any swimming gear. But I haven’t been in the sea in ten years and this seemed like the perfect opportunity, so I decided to go for it. Luckily I wear lots of layers so I was able to construct a bathing costume from articles of my underclothing. It’s true that I was still clothed from shoulder to knee and it was all under cover of darkness, but I did eventually have to surface from the waves in skin-hugging waterlogged garments. I also inadvertently exposed my breasts to the entire beach as I attempted surreptitiously to change into dry clothes. Only for me could flashing be considered a small victory!

I was so pleased about the swim that I decided to take it one step further on my last day in Rome. I always keep my arms well-covered (preferably down to the elbow) and wouldn’t dream of wearing a sleeveless dress without a shirt over it, but the heat of the Italian summer was making that extremely uncomfortable. So I did the obvious thing and removed a layer, leaving the white and squishy flesh of my upper arms open to the elements (under a layer of sunblock, of course!). I walked around for several hours in this state and didn’t even cover up when I met friends for a drink and some shopping.

I must admit to being somewhat embarrassed at my state of undress but mostly I felt liberated. It really was SO HOT that wearing an extra layer would have just been silly. My arms are how they are and keeping them covered is not going to change that – it’s just going to make me hot. This seems like a simple concept but its wisdom has escaped me until now.

So I graced Rome with bare arms and didn’t die of shame. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised when a friend said the real shame is that I’ve been depriving the world of the sight of my lovely shoulder dimple! (It is rather lovely.)

I did feel the need to cover up before posing for any holiday snaps (for fear that the camera might self-destruct if it captured so much of my naked flesh), so there is still some way to go. But I’m gaining in confidence with each tiny step.

I was also delighted to discover that my recent skydive has in fact cured my fear of flying. I didn’t even mind the turbulence! This is very heartening and implies that perhaps this whole naked adventure might solve my body issue problems after all. Now I just have to store up courage to make sure I don’t wimp out of my naked modelling session at the end of the month.