From Beach Babe to Naturist: How Lake Como Changed Everything

I’ve always loved a nude beach. There’s just something about it — the breeze on bare skin, the sun warming every inch of you, the waves rolling in without a clingy, too-tight swimsuit ruining the moment. That was freedom to me. That was what I thought naturism was all about.

So when I planned a weekend trip to Lake Como, I figured it would be more of the same. A couple days to unwind, catch some sun, maybe skinny-dip in a lake instead of the ocean. But from the moment I arrived, I knew this was something else entirely. Something that would shift how I viewed nudism — and myself — in a way I hadn’t expected.

From Nude to Natural

At a nude beach, I’ve always felt a little freer — but also a little on guard. There’s an awareness that comes with the territory. You watch your bag. You keep an eye out for the men who sit too close or stay clothed a little too long. You stretch out on your towel, trying to relax, but a part of you stays alert. Aware of my surroundings. Aware of the people who come fully clothed just to gawk. Aware of where I leave my bag, my phone, my towel.

There’s freedom, but it’s cautious. Temporary. Even a little performative.

At Lake Como, that tension disappeared the moment I stepped off the golf cart. Everyone was nude — but no one was watching. There was no posturing, no sizing up, no subtle scanning. Just people living their lives, chatting on porches, walking their dogs, heading off to play pickleball or float in the pool. Nudity here wasn’t a statement. It was just... normal. Relaxed. Human. And that changed everything.

A Walk Through Pines and Presence

Later that day, I wandered off the main path and found myself surrounded by tall rows of pine trees. I’d learned on the tour that this land used to be orange groves, but now the pines stood quietly in their place, stretching toward the sky like they had all the time in the world. The air was thick with stillness — not heavy, but grounding.

I stood there barefoot, letting the dirt and needles press into my skin. There was no rush, no pressure to go do the next thing. Just stillness. And in that stillness, I realized I wasn’t just visiting a resort. I was part of the moment. Present. Unhidden. Enough.

An Unexpected Connection

Later that afternoon, I stopped into the café for a drink and ended up talking with someone sitting alone at a nearby table. We were close in age, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. They told me they had once worked at Lake Como as a summer camp counselor, back when the resort hosted week-long naturist camps for teens. We talked about what it meant to grow up in a place where nudity was normalized, not judged. About how those summers shaped their sense of self — not just in terms of confidence, but in real connection and comfort with others.

They weren’t retired, or looking back on life from a distance. They were like me — still living it, still figuring it out, still drawn to this space for what it made possible. I walked away from that conversation feeling a little more rooted. Like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

A Flower, a Smile, and a Dance

That night, I found myself at the Butt Hutt — the resort’s bar — chatting and watching the crowd as music drifted through the warm night air. A woman I hadn’t met before walked up to me, smiled, and tucked a flower behind my ear. “Come dance,” she said, and just like that, I was pulled into a circle of women swaying under the lights, laughing and spinning around the room while the band played.

There was no awkwardness. No hesitation. Just kindness and joy and that rare feeling of being completely at ease in your own skin, surrounded by people who see you — not for how you look, but for how you show up.

A Shower Under the Sky

There are several outdoor showers at Como, but my favorite is the one tucked between the pickleball courts and the pool. That night, I wandered over after a swim, still warm from the water and glowing from the dance.

I stepped under the stream and tilted my face toward the stars. The water was warm, the breeze was cool, and for a moment, it felt like time had stretched out just for me. No mirror. No expectations. Just me, rinsing off the day, surrounded by trees and quiet sky. It wasn’t about washing off. It was about letting go.

From Visitor to Naturist

Before Como, I wouldn’t have called myself a nudist. I loved nude beaches, sure — but I thought of it as a thing I liked to do, not a part of who I was.

But somewhere between the pine trees, the café conversation, the flower tucked into my hair, and the outdoor shower under the stars, that changed. I stopped thinking about how I looked. I stopped worrying about whether I fit in. I just was. Fully. Comfortably. And completely myself.

That’s the shift. Como didn’t just let me be naked. It let me be.

Thinking About Visiting?

If you’re wondering whether you could do this — whether you could actually go to a nudist resort, alone, and feel good about it — let me tell you: you can.

Come for a weekend. Talk to someone at the bar. Walk through the trees. Shower under the open sky. Sit by the lake and listen to the wind. You don’t have to be anything but exactly who you are.

I came for the sunshine. I left with a whole new understanding of what it means to feel at home in my own skin.