From Overpacker to Bare Essentials: How Nudism Cured My Suitcase
Before I discovered nude resorts, I was that girl. The chronic overpacker.
Weekend trip? I’d bring three outfits and two pairs of shoes—just in case.
Five-day cruise? You’d think I was moving into my cabin permanently. I packed four outfits per day, matching undergarments for each look, and shoes to coordinate every ensemble. And yes, I had a luggage scale to avoid getting charged for my fashion addiction.
In the textile world, you never know how you’ll need to dress—will it be beach casual, cocktail chic, or “what if we go dancing?”
Every item in my closet deserved its moment to shine. Its night on the town. Its turn in the spotlight. And I wasn’t about to leave anyone behind.
Then I discovered nudism.
And that stripped the overpacking right out of me.
My First Naturist Trip: Panic in a Duffel Bag
Before my first visit to Lake Como, I called my friend in a full-blown spiral.
“I don’t know what to pack,” I said. “Like… how do you pack for a nude resort?”
Their answer was infuriatingly simple:
“Bring a towel, your toiletries, and maybe a sarong or robe if it gets chilly at night.”
That’s it?!
I refused to believe it. This wasn’t some minimalist TikTok challenge—I was going away for the weekend! What about dinner? What if we went out dancing? What if I needed something cute to wear in case I ran into someone I knew (a hilarious concern in hindsight)?
So I compromised. I still packed a couple of outfits, a few pairs of shoes (a girl needs options), and enough makeup to survive a small apocalypse. Just in case.
Spoiler alert: I wore one outfit. Once.
To go to Publix.
What I Thought I’d Need vs. What I Actually Used
Here’s the thing about nudist resorts—once you’re there, you don’t want to put clothes back on. After about five minutes of nerves and awkward towel-holding, you feel the shift. No one’s judging. No one cares what you’re wearing. Everyone’s just… comfortable. Free. Human.
And all those “just in case” outfits? They stay packed. Untouched. Taking up space and collecting regret.
What I actually needed was way more practical:
Three towels:
One for the shower, one for the pool, and one to sit on or carry with me around the grounds. (Sitting on your own towel is basic nudist etiquette.)Footwear for different zones:
Flip-flops for the pool and showers, sneakers or hiking sandals for trails and nature walks, and one pair of cute slides for the bar at night. That’s it.Sunscreen:
For everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Those delicate areas that don’t usually get sun? They will now. And let me tell you, burnt bits are no joke.Sunglasses:
Even the most body-confident naturist still squints without shades.A bag of some kind:
Since I didn’t exactly have pockets (nudity is inconvenient that way), I needed a little cinch sack or crossbody bag to hold my essentials—keys, phone, towel, maybe a snack.
Everything else? Dead weight.
The Packing Mindset Shift
Before nudism, I packed like I was auditioning for “Project Runway: Vacation Edition.” I needed outfits that matched the vibe, just in case the vibe changed. I packed for every version of myself I might need to be—fun, flirty, relaxed, elegant, active, cute-but-casual.
Nudism taught me I don’t have to perform. I don’t have to be anyone but me.
These days, I go from giant, overstuffed suitcases to a regular-sized backpack.
Seriously. That’s it.
It’s not just about packing light—it’s about letting go. Letting go of the anxiety around what to wear, how I look, and whether I measure up. There’s something beautiful about waking up, throwing your towel over your shoulder, and walking outside as you are—no adjustments, no accessories, no trying to hide or impress.
Have I Kicked the Habit Completely?
Well… almost.
I still pack cute sandals. A girl’s gotta have some options, right?
But I don’t stress anymore. I don’t need ten outfit changes per day or the pressure to look “put together.” Because in this world, I’m not trying to be anyone but me—bare, sun-kissed, slightly over-sunscreened, and absolutely free.
