Prudeville Meets Nudeville

by Carrie Pålsson

You'd think hanging around a bunch of naked Swedish ladies would be the worst thing you could possibly do for an already shaky body imagine. The stereotypical Swede is tall and blonde, perfectly leggy with a flat tummy and big breasts. I guess this comes from the infamous Swedish Biknini Team, but did you know the Swedish Bikini Team is a complete fabrication invented by American beer companies? The first members of the team weren't even Swedish, though the current "manager" of the team tells me the ladies are all authentic. But this is not an article about sexy Swedish ladies. This is an article about perceptions.

For the past few years water aerobics and swimming have been my fitness activities of choice. When I moved to Sweden I naturally signed up for a pool membership as soon as the jetlag wore off. No one told me about the horrors known as the "Swedish locker room." No one prepared me for the levels of nudity I was about to encounter. No one warned me that I was about to very literally expose myself to a bunch of strangers.

I grew up in America. I was used to the contortionist activities that happen in an American dressing room. If you're an American you know what I'm talking about: the bra removal while still wearing your shirt, the towel around the waist while removing your underwear, and, of course, the amazing "pull on the bathing suit while the clothes are still half on" stunt that we all learn at an early age. It's a part of life in Prudeville. What do you expect from a country that was founded by Puritans? We may be blasted with images of sex, sex and more sex in the media, but in reality most American women keep their less than perfect bodies carefully safeguarded against the casual eyes of friends and strangers.

I walked into that Swedish locker room for the first time and about choked to death. A youngish nude woman was chasing a nude boy down the hall. She didn't even glance at me. An old woman was carefully applying lotion to every inch of her naked, flabby body. Another middle-aged woman was happily chatting on her cell phone while wearing only a pair of thong panties. I felt like I had just entered the twilight zone.

I found a locker that was away from the others and carefully changed into my bathing suit, using the previously-mentioned American contortionist method. I wrapped an oversized towel around myself and headed for the shower room.

Another shock greeted me.

No shower curtains. No privacy walls. No nothing, but naked ladies chatting it up while scrubbing out their delicate areas. I thought they might have to call an ambulance to haul me out of there.

And so I was introduced to the world of body acceptance. Until this time I'd never actually seen a real, live naked woman without a towel to cover the mid-section. I had no idea what other women looked like under their clothes. I could guess that they were all perfectly toned without an ounce of flab. That's what the media wants me to believe. I'd long ago convinced myself that I was the fattest woman on earth and my flabby imperfection was abnormal and disgusting.

Viewing all those naked women over the course of two-and-a-half years taught me something profound. I know I'm stupid for not understanding this sooner, but all that nudity taught me that no one is perfect! I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help noticing that everyone over the age of about 22 had boobs in various degrees of sagdom. Everyone had flab. Lots of women had scars or moles or other imperfections that they probably hated. I wasn't abnormal and disgusting! I was just your normal, everyday woman who struggled against time, gravity and chocolate.

My body image is still a struggle, but seeing real women with real bodies gave me a much healthier perspective about myself. I don't fight against my stomach flab quite as much as I used to. I understand it's just part of being a woman.