A heatwave is the perfect moment to rediscover the joys of being naked

Until very recently, I would have gnawed off my own arm more readily than take off my clothes in public. Partly because I am pale, I’ve had two children and my tummy does not resemble a washboard, but primarily because I am British. Public nudity comes about as naturally to me as allowing somebody to skip a queue.

But, at a festival a few months ago, I found myself in a crowded sauna, naked as the day I was born. The space was small – about the size of a garden shed – and there were at least 20 other men and women in it, all just as bare as I was. When I got too hot, I ran outside and jumped into a stream, where more naked people were doing the same. And it was glorious. After a lifetime of brainwashing by sanitised, airbrushed images of “perfection”, it is such a tonic to find yourself surrounded by other people with lumps, bumps and scars, hairy bits and dangly bits. I just had to try not to stare.

Being naked with other people instantly gets rid of several levels of nonsense. It’s a great leveller, as clothes are our primary markers of tribal identity. We use them to send out signals about wealth, class or professional status, and cultural taste. Without them, everyone looks more different than you thought, but also more similar; it becomes harder to write off people on first glance as “other”.

It also encourages a healthier sense of your own body. When I took off my clothes that day at the festival, I experienced about five minutes of extreme awkwardness, an intense desire to cover myself up with my hands. But because that would have looked ridiculous, I had to take a deep breath and walk tall. It’s impossible to feel the same level of shame about your wobbly bits when you are surrounded by other naked people, many of whom are just as wobbly as you. When we buy clothes, we choose designs that disguise the bits of our bodies we don’t like – and in doing so create guilty secrets that we carry with us all the time. Getting naked doesn’t get rid of the flab, of course, but it does get rid of the sense of secrecy and shame.

The experience made me think about the degree of body shame that is ingrained in us from childhood. I distinctly remember the moment when I realised that I was expected to hide my body. I was getting changed for a primary school swimming lesson, and one of the older girls pointed mockingly at me. It was a tiny incident, but it must have made a big impression, as I remember it clearly 30 years later. My eight-year-old son has recently gone through the same transition; having been completely shame-free as a toddler, he now hides himself carefully while he gets changed. Although part of me accepts that as totally “normal”, I can’t help also feeling sad about it.

In the months since the festival, I have become a little bit evangelical about nakedness. I’ve become a regular visitor to Brighton’s nudist beach, and although I’m still a bit wimpy – I tend to walk right up to the edge of the sea, whip my clothes off, and jump in – being naked is gradually feeling more and more, well, natural.

I would love to see more people – especially women – making the most of these spaces. Brighton was the first major resort to dedicate a section of its seafront to nudism in 1980, as the result of an impassioned campaign by a woman, Eileen Jakes. But today I find the great majority of its users are men. Women have been brought up to feel that baring their bodies – even in an officially sanctioned space – is an invitation to harassment and intimidation. Perhaps in the era of #MeToo that will change.

So setting aside the many reasons why this heatwave is bad news, let’s take advantage of the unusual temperatures to shake off some of our cold-climate prudishness. (We are, after all, the country that spent in excess of £300,000 imprisoning the naked rambler.) Take it from me: in this heat, there really is nothing like plunging into cold water with nothing on.

• Alice O’Keeffe is a freelance literary critic and journalist