What’s so wrong with bare skin?
It’s a question I’ve found myself asking more and more lately. Why? Simply because of the experiences I’ve had over the past year. None of them were life-threatening, so you might wonder: what’s the big deal? But they were moments where people seemed to value their own norms, comfort, and worldview far above mine — and to me, that’s where things go wrong.
I’m someone who loves cycling, and whenever I can, I prefer doing it in nothing more than a pair of cycling shorts. There’s something wonderfully freeing about feeling the sun and the wind directly on your skin. It also helps regulate my body temperature, so I don’t arrive drenched in sweat. In short, it just feels good — simple as that. And yes, on very rare occasions even that last piece of clothing comes off, but only in places where it’s appropriate and where I don’t expect to run into anyone. We do have Article 430a here in the Netherlands regulating nude recreation, and I (usually) stick to it.
So for most of the year, that’s how I cycle: just shorts. Whether I’m riding to get somewhere or simply out for the joy of it, I genuinely enjoy what’s around me: the dunes, the buzzard suddenly diving for its prey, the rising sun over the meadows, or the small thrill of passing a long line of cars and arriving earlier than the people stuck in them. Nothing dramatic — just me being myself, doing nothing odd, frightening, or offensive to anyone.
It doesn’t happen every day, but far more often than I’d like, people still feel the need to respond to it. Drivers honking as they pass. Passengers shouting things out of open windows. Cyclists calling out “Put some clothes on, you weirdo!” while I’m quietly waiting at a traffic light. Charming, right?
Last summer, I was cycling on Texel from the ferry to Den Burg. As always in summer, there’s a long line of cars coming from the boat, so traffic on the Pontweg crawls along. At some point, a white Renault with four people inside slowly overtakes me. As it pulls up next to me, I see the rear window slide down and someone in the back sticks his head out to yell something at me. With the wind rushing past my ears, I couldn’t make out what he said, but whatever it was, his fellow passengers thought it was absolutely hilarious.
As always, I just keep going, pretending not to notice. The car drives on but has to slow down again at a crossing. I catch up, and as soon as I appear in their field of view, the window starts going down again. Unfortunately for the aspiring comedian inside, the car moves off again before I reach them. This little routine repeats twice more before I reach Den Burg. I head toward the campsite and the white Renault turns right into town.
Like I said earlier: none of this is life-or-death material, but it does get to me sometimes. I’m not too fond of white Renaults — in fact, I can’t stand the sight of them anymore. I could try to get every white Renault off the road for my own comfort, or start lecturing every driver I see. But honestly, it’s much easier to simply look the other way if you don’t want to see something. You have that choice — and by making it, you show respect for others, even when they live differently than you do. Live and let live! Respect each other, let people be who they are. Only then can we share this world in a pleasant way.
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