Illustration by Burton Durand
It was ten in the morning, and I was riding backward on a golf cart past a group of naked men.
I hadn’t won a prize or lost a bet: I was on a tour of Indian Hills Nudist Park in Slidell, Louisiana’s only clothing-optional campground and resort. The site’s operator Tim Kraemer was whizzing us along the campground’s roads, waving at residents and giving me a quick rundown of the property’s history.
It’s a family business. Founder, Gottlieb Kogel, opened it in 1971, later bequeathing it to friend and employee Hilda Kraemer, who ran it with her husband Selves until their recent retirement, in which she bequeathed management responsibilities to her children Stephanie Lasserre and Tim.
The siblings didn’t know their parents ran a clothing-optional resort until they were young adults. Relatively complex legal arrangements protect both the Kraemers’ and the local government’s interests: a long lease expressly protecting operation as a nudist resort also requires a Kraemer or heir retain the land. The Kraemers have, through responsible stewardship, built up a reservoir of trust; it’s easy to imagine a Slidell power-that-is saying something like “I’m not having any naked people I don’t know move in up the road.”
Indian Hills hosts a small enclave of permanent residents and also offers rental cabins, campsites, RV spots, and day use. They know it’s funny—one of the rental cabins is called “No Tan Lines,” and signs on the private cabins make heavy use of bear/bare puns. A pool area and kitchen/activities center anchor the site, which also offers a nature trail and three stocked ponds. (One of them is watched over by a concrete menagerie of giraffes and gorillas—whimsical décor former cabin tenants or guests balked at transporting when they moved away.) An events calendar offers yoga, painting, karaoke, and other activities throughout the week, with theme weekends popping up more or less monthly—the particularly confident can even participate in a crawfish boil competition. Looking to the future, Kraemer hopes to further promote the idea of nudity as an activity, not necessarily as a lifestyle—plenty of people might welcome the opportunity to step out of their routine and their drawers, but don’t realize that a day or evening jaunt is possible.
One of the classic sitcom setups about nudism: is it rude to show up clothed? Of course not. We live in a world that has embraced the trouser and the blouse, and the vast majority of Indian Hills is clothing-optional so people may be as (un)dressed as weather and comfort permit. Exceptions are the clothing-necessary office and front of the property (to avoid startling the delivery people) and the pool area, where nudity is required to avoid an awkward dynamic—you can imagine how people might feel more comfortable with everyone in the same boat.
One of the classic sitcom setups about nudism: is it rude to show up clothed? Of course not. We live in a world that has embraced the trouser and the blouse, and the vast majority of Indian Hills is clothing-optional so people may be as (un)dressed as weather and comfort permit.
The stereotype of the nudist as an older, probably-European man reflects certain truths: social nudity is more popular in Europe (which sent its Puritans to this continent), and while hanging out outside naked is older than civilization and indeed the human species itself, the practice did see an expansion in the ostensibly freewheeling 1960s and ‘70s. Kraemer noted that the older nudist cliché is buoyed by the fact that retirees simply have more time to engage in their hobbies. On the March Saturday I went, the age range skewed a little older, but there were people of all ages; the clientele was largely, but not monolithically, white nor was it particularly male.
In modern-day America, nudity is often solely associated with sexual activity; if you search “nudism” online—say to research an article you’re writing—you find many more giggling clickbait articles than actual sources on the history of social nudity as a cultural phenomenon. Indian Hills is not unaffected by this perception. Kraemer said he and the other staff do field occasional calls from the public asking about the ages and perceived attractiveness of the day’s guests—some callers want to be assured of an appealing eyeful, and other people are leery of being geese among swans. Both these groups of callers miss the point. Yes, you can have sex nude. You can also swim, sunbathe, socialize, picnic, paint, do yoga, play bingo, or perform karaoke. People go to Indian Hills and other nudity-friendly areas not to perform or spectate but to relax; not to see and be seen, but to be. To address concerns and secure the comfort of their guests, the campground prohibits the underage from entering beyond the office and requires that any hanky-panky occur behind closed doors.
Yes, you can have sex nude. You can also swim, sunbathe, socialize, picnic, paint, do yoga, play bingo, or perform karaoke. People go to Indian Hills and other nudity-friendly areas not to perform or spectate but to relax; not to see and be seen, but to be.
As my interview with Kraemer wound down, I had yet to take off so much as a sock. I jumped in: “And so, I really should have the full experience. Can I go ahead and walk around naked for a while?” Kraemer seemed impressed—though I’m far from the first person to write about the campground, Southeast Louisiana is apparently short on naked lifestyle journalists. (Or maybe one is enough!) He drove us back to the office, where I paid a $30 day-use fee (my all-time favorite reimbursement receipt) and received a beach towel and a small round sticker to place over my cell phone camera lens.
[Read about Paloma Lake, another clothed camping option near New Orleans, here.]
I expected to be more self-conscious than I was. I say this not to shock but to inform: I have been nude before! I’ve even done so outside, and on one long-ago occasion streaked through a dorm at the University of Pennsylvania. I was not then, as I am now, shaped like a thirty-seven-year-old man who spent the pandemic falling in love with someone who knows how to make custard. In common with many people, I believe the human body to simply be a natural fact to be taken as it comes, without judgment or shame; in common with many of those same people, I spend much of my time being vaguely horrified by my particular body and by the various numbers on the garments that usually cover it. But life’s too short, I was on assignment, and I couldn’t look any worse nude than I did in the ultra-dumpy Amazon Basics slacks I had arrived in. After a little awkward shuffling to get shorts over shoes and a triple-check that my keys weren’t about to be locked in the car, I was off.
I say this not to shock but to inform: I have been nude before! I’ve even done so outside, and on one long-ago occasion streaked through a dorm at the University of Pennsylvania. I was not then, as I am now, shaped like a thirty-seven-year-old man who spent the pandemic falling in love with someone who knows how to make custard.
I couldn’t stay out long—I sunburn very easily, even on a near-perfect mid-spring day, and while I trust sunscreen I prefer to pair it with caution and shade. I took a turn around the nature trail and then, because it was a nice day, around the broader property, exchanging the usual greetings and smiles with the people I passed, nude, clothed, or naked except for a T-shirt—Pooh Bear-style. My body stood out only in that it was the most tattooed—I don’t know if this is because of the sun’s effects on tattoo ink or that people comfortable removing their clothes don’t feel the need to create visual interest with drawings of birds. All in all, my nude walk was pleasantly anticlimactic—cheerful and lightly rebellious.
Social nudity isn’t for everyone—we’ve all been wearing clothes our whole lives, and most of us have some aspect or other of our bodies we’re reluctant to expose. But even if you need a cloud of mosquito spray and layer of UV-thwarting sunscreen, it is good to be reminded that we are part of nature. Be it a lark or a lifestyle, it’s worth a whirl.
