When a fellow kayaker handed me the menu for a pizza joint while I was clad in just a towel last summer, I was a little surprised but not aghast. Having lived in Denmark for about five years in total (work-related moves brought me and my partner from Canada to Copenhagen in 2016, followed by relocations to Switzerland and England, and a joyful return ‘hjemme’ in early 2025), I’m slightly more accustomed to the Danish approach to nudity — if still not entirely comfortable with casual nakedness myself.
During our first stint living in Denmark, I noticed the Danes’ relative ease with undressing around others. In the changeroom of the yoga studio I teach at, people regularly continue chatting as they strip off sweaty yoga gear (most of the classes are heated) and slip into a shower. They’ll pop on the blow dryer before popping on clothes, thinking nothing of remaining au naturel while styling their hair — and often keeping up a conversation.
Shortly into our second time residing here, my partner and I joined a kayak club. The Friday lessons were followed by a communal dinner, most often prepared by a member who wasn’t paddling that evening. The few times no one signed up to cook, take-out was the obvious solution. Of course, picking a cuisine while rinsing off the salt and sweat from being on the ocean only made sense. Far more expeditious to take advantage of being clustered together in the four-showerhead space, just off the dressing room, to discuss dinner before everyone had re-dressed.
The kayak club has three communal changing spaces: women’s, men’s, and mixed. About half of the Friday crew (including my Canadian-born and raised partner) went for the mixed gender option (it is, afterall, larger and features a sauna) — I’ve stuck with the women’s only one. According to my partner, there’s plenty of chatter happening in the mixed changeroom, too. I suspect that not devoting brain power to artfully draping clothes and an almost-certainly-too-small towel to avoid exposing a nipple or pubic hair helps keep the gabbing going.
Even though this casual nudity is normal for me now (or, at least, a lot less awkward), I doubt I’ll ever be as nonchalant as people raised with it.
For most people who grew up in Denmark, nakedness is no big deal. Their parents would likely have changed on the beach alongside everyone else. It probably wasn’t uncommon to see topless women swimming or hanging out by the water. And bits and bobs wouldn’t have been titillating.
Growing up in Canada, people kept their clothes on, unsurprising given the country’s anti-nudity laws. There was one nude beach in Vancouver and, as a teenager, I considered visiting it as rebellious and almost transgressive. To this day, the legality of women being topless in public spaces across Canada is questionable (some provinces shrug, others maintain that nudity equals indecency) and adult friends are more likely to step into another room than change in front of each other.
When we lived in the UK, I was surprised to learn the country has no outright ban on public nudity. Cultural norms, however, steer strongly away from being outside in the buff — even on your own property. Quoting a British manners expert from an article about summer etiquette: ‘If your garden or balcony is visible to others, “[nudity] is not really acceptable.”’ Yikes!
Likewise, Denmark has no laws against public nudity. Indecent exposure is prohibited, but as long as naked or partially naked people aren’t intentionally causing offense or engaging in sexual acts, others likely won’t bat an eye. Yes, there are specific nude beaches, but toplessness is common and Denmark’s approach to covering up tends towards the laissez-faire.
It’s unexceptional in much of Europe, too. In the changeroom of a Roman-Irish-inspired spa in Zürich, my Dutch friend shed her clothes without breaking her train of thought. I hesitated until my Australian-born Swiss friend did the same. When in Rome, right? Internally, however, I was having a small freak-out.
Chatting with my Australian-Swiss friend afterwards, she said it had taken her years to develop that level of comfort. Decades of conditioning that nudity is shameful and “bathing suit bits” should not feel the sun’s rays are tough to overcome, even if I truly believe that a relaxed approach to nudity is better (it certainly seems good for body positivity).
Although we’ve lived in Europe for the same length of time, somehow my partner has dropped the Canadian overmodesty. He happily sunbathed in his birthday suit in our fenced back garden where we lived in England (that’s as a ‘backyard’ to North Americans) and needed no convincing to use the mixed changeroom at the kayak club. Maybe being male helps?
For me, though, I’ll keep acting as though I’m totally okay debating how many vegetarian pizzas we need with my clothes in a puddle on the floor. Hoping my face doesn’t betray my internal monologue: “Be cool, be cool, be cool. Nudity is no big deal.”
