Call me old fashioned, but sending nudes is one of my love languages. I know because I do it whether I feel great or terrible about myself. I’ve opened numerous unexpected friendships with it and stayed connected to lovers through the exchange of nudes. It makes others feel appreciated while I learn to appreciate myself.
Lately, I’ve had an unexpected surge of Good Feelings for my body. I had a skincare kick, even adding a third skincare product to my rotation. I’ve finally discovered hair removal that works for me (epilating). There’s even been an addition to my hair care regimen to reduce tangling: satin sleeping caps. My girlfriend calls them hat-socks.
None of these events were driven by an overriding urge to ‘better myself’. They’re unplanned. They’re just little things that coalesce into a collected good feeling. Buoying my way to a better life in this earth-bound meat sack.
And when I feel good about myself, I take more nudes. I’ve been taking and sending them since I left my childhood home in 2014. They’re not just tokens of flirtation. Sure, it started out that way, but they became a way to memorialize my body.
The emotional wound that ignited my first round of eating disorder discovery was a nude photo. I accidentally took an unposed full-length photo of myself while setting up and discovered how gaunt I’d become.
While I was transitioning, nudes were a barometer of my rapidly improving mental well-being. I took a new set every month, and I followed each incremental change in my body with glee. Each shot a record of my new best, and I would never have to turn back.
Today, I know I’m in a good place because I also take them for no particular reason. My only regret is not being able to disperse the absolute bangers to as many people as I’d like. Dating apps are my usual haunt, but maintaining those conversations is such a pain in the ass. I’ve already exhausted my girlfriend and our small pool of lovers for interest, and I wanted more eyeballs on me.
Enter: Instagram.
My Instagram following is an eclectic mix of queer folk and tabletop wargaming nerds. Men who like Warhammer 40 000 aren’t my first contender for unreserved titty-posting. But there’s that pool of queer women who also follow me. Those are my people. They’re the ones who’d understand. I resolved to try.
First-off, I told my girlfriend I wanted to do this in accordance with the rules of our polyamorous pairing. She approved but pointed out that no matter how hard I specified queer women as my target audience, I’d probably find a sack of vienna sausages waylaid onto my face. I accepted the risk and began writing my first post.
To give myself the best possible chance against Instagram’s titty-hating AI moderation, I composed the post and obfuscated the word nudes. I screenshotted the draft and posted that so the automatic moderation had to fall back on visual text recognition without the benefit of raw text.
I posted it and went to bed. I fully expected a bunch of dick pics and a 48-hour suspension for my antics.
The outcome was unexpectedly heartwarming. The vast majority of respondents were queer women. Some were forthright about their interest. Others were more demure (and mindful?) in their approach. Yes, there were a few damnable fools who weren’t part of my target audience fishing for nudes. And at least a couple who tried the ‘hurr hurr I’m identifying as female for this lol’ thing and copped a quick block.
For those charming, eligible queers who made it into my inbox, I quickly got to work. Everyone received a greeting and was told that reciprocation was welcome but not mandatory. I outlined my current nudes policy: Keeping is fine. Share only with your sexual or romantic partners. No posting or other dissemination. A surprising number of those femmes responded with ‘lol I’m way too single to have anyone to share with,‘ which was hilarious.
Nobody declined my terms, and everyone received a handful of bangers from my recent escapades. The wonderful recipients included former university classmates (I had one-time crushes on a few of them!), the usual suspects, and a few strangers. A few returned the favor with their own entries from the archive, which I graciously accepted.
Most of these little conversations ended with an exchange of compliments, thanks, and pleasantries. A few stayed around to chat, and those became something special. I fell into catch-up conversations with people I haven’t seen in years after the pics had left my mind.
I fell into a long discussion with a mutual about body image difficulties and how nude photography has saved both of our asses from hating ourselves more. I learned that some of my followers are online sex workers, and we had a lot in common. There were talks about dating safety in 2024’s app-mediated dating landscape. There were catch-up sessions with distant but long-loved friends in between naughty pictures.
This started as an exercise in self-love and turned into an exercise in personal connection. With fellow women who understood. They understood the difficulties of body image and wanted to talk to someone about it. They understood that our naked bodies are currency and treasure, and that doesn’t devalue them in any way. They understood what I meant when I said, ‘Yeah, I’m bisexual but men are on thin ice right now.‘
I didn’t think my week could be made by a series of break-away chats over nude photos, but here we are. Instagram didn’t even sanction me. Even if someone did report the post, it didn’t make it to some unfortunate, outsourced human moderator in time to derail my happiness.
Being trans, I had to learn femininity at a later age with higher stakes. But whenever I’m around femininity, I’m awed by the connection that women and feminines share with each other. The collective code that even makes strangers into trustworthy confidants and protectors.
I know that nudes-as-a-love-language isn’t for everyone. I won’t encourage putting employment, reputation (blegh.), and sanity on the line to emulate my antics. But if this experience has shown me anything, it’s that the sisterhood is doing well, and you can send nudes and just be gal pals.
I aspire to one day have the confidence to do this! Love hearing your story, Summer
Half the confidence is honestly being fine with Insta catching on and whacking you for being naughty. And remember, you never have to do anything you’re not ready for. But it IS fun.
this is a beautifully written piece, Summer
Aw thank ya <3