Once on a beach, as I was sanguinely enjoying the feeling of late summer afternoon sun on my entirely bare self, the shoe-shod feet of a man trudged past my line of sight as I gazed out to sea. They were expensive business loafers, stomping angrily through the sand. They were attached to the body of a man wearing a suit, including a tie. The man seemed to have been teleported from the centre of the Sydney CBD to this beach. It is by a wide margin the weirdest thing I have seen at a nude beach.
People who wear clothes to a nude beach are breaking an unspoken social contract that has been in place for decades. It is not somewhere to turn up fully clothed and stare at naked people.
