So, there is a restaurant in Paris where patrons strip to dine and wine. People whose biggest problem is having their clothes on. Of all worries in the world!
Bienvenue à O’naturel (welcome to O’naturel).
Here you remove everything that falls in the category of garments. Including your dear undies. Complete nudity, for the love of clothes. Then you anchor your bare derriere on the seat waiting to place your order.
Attendants though are required to be dressed. By the law. Once you are done, you pick your clothes and leave.
Picture yourself tucking into your steak or nursing your favourite mojito with a bare bum! Isn’t it hilarious? And outrageous?
However you choose to look at it, this ritual is unusual. In every conceivable way.
If you do not cringe on the thought of swirling and taking a slug from your glass of whiskey with absolutely nothing on, with men and women buzzing animatedly around you, you are… In fact, there is just no suitable description for you in all world.
For some folks though, this practice gives them an incredible relief. And a hideous feeling of freedom. Nude freedom.
It’s jerky to even disrobe for a shower. Or before grinding corn. Ever been with a partner who couldn’t peel off their clothes with the lights on?
Some people though have nerves. Others have everything else the rest of us ordinary mortals lack.
Notably, folks who eat here do not mind strangers seeing their nudity. Or care to look at what is between the legs of fellow patrons. It is the least of their concerns.
Don’t be mistaken. These are rational people. People with no loose nuts in their heads. Neither is this a cult. Or a devil’s worship centre. These are “regular” people who simply want to be. To eat in peace, and nude.
Open such an eatery in Nairobi and wait to be roasted in the cauldron of public morality lecture.
It is hard to not lose one’s cool head when everything around is so tempting. So awfully inviting.
In an age when there is so much nudity flying around, there are humans who just can’t get enough of raw meat.
Would you, for instance, keep a cool head even when the hottie in the next table giggled facing you? Ever as you know that she has nothing on?
Would you overlook it even when her bust dances up and down as the barrel of laughs seated opposite her tickles her night away?
People have different problems. Money. Men. Women. Sex. For some, the problem is in their heads. For these Parisians, the problem is in their clothes.
How would you react if you ran into your boss or client at the nudist club? Courtesy in respect? Toast for tougher calves? Or smile a nod and saunter away?
When everybody around you is in their natural state, the thrill of strip-teasing instantly turns into child’s play. After all, your eyes have more than plenty to sample.
Imagine discussing “The Hobbit” or the Chinese debt with your crush while you can see his length and girth.
Would you focus on the subject at hand when your eyes are nailed on the tattoo or stud on her left nipple?
One thing is for sure: this is no place for people who quiver at the slightest flirtation. If you cannot keep a straight gaze on a man or woman at a regular restaurant, how would you behave when you can actually survey their chin downwards?
I wonder: is it possible for someone to turn you down even after you have ploughed their vineyard with your eyes for hours? It just doesn’t add up. If you asked me.
It also is curious to know just how folks behave when liquor kicks in. Thankfully, you can’t strip further.
But if someone can undress to eat, I suppose they have manners to not drink themselves to embarrassment?
Before you break your cranium off the wall for your January broke woes, some peeps in Paris are hung up about having to cover their nudity.
Life is never that serious, is it?