«I’m already naked»

There aren't many places in Basel where I'm allowed to be naked. One of them is on the Rhine, on my secret beach. A specific spot on the Riverside of the Rhine in Kleinbasel between the Tinguely Museum and Wettsteinbrücke. Where all the other fishermen's huts are surrounded by fences, this one is freely accessible. That strip of beach is called the nudist shore. I usually feel comfortable on my secret beach, even though there are almost only naked men there apart from me. One of them is reading the newspaper and keeps us informed about the weather, another one is doing yoga.

The Sunnebeedli on Margarethenhügel is a second place where nudity is permitted. However, only in gender-segregated areas and only for sunbathing – swimming naked is prohibited. There is also a football ban and a ban on ‘making noise’. In the Fraueli, on the other hand, the women's area of the Eglisee, toplessness is expressly permitted. Being completely naked is prohibited. The same applies to children under the age of 16 (except for babies). Are places that allow something that is generally forbidden particularly susceptible to forbidding the mundane?

However, being legally permitted does not necessarily equal being customary, let alone practised. I read on ‘badi-info.ch’ that nudity is generally permitted on the entire riverside of the Rhine. What's more, there is no legal basis in Switzerland for banning certain people from being topless. However, bathing establishments often do so anyway, citing ‘proper bathing attire’. As long as no-one complains, bare breasts which are considered female are usually tolerated. But sometimes people still do complain. For example, that (certain) bare breasts pose a danger to children.

At the same time, there aren't many places in Basel where I want to be naked. Even in places where I am allowed to be naked, I can feel uncomfortable. Even where I am allowed to be naked, I don't automatically feel safe. Furthermore, it's not just where I'm naked that matters, but also what I do when I'm naked. Of course I want to be naked in the sauna and swimming is my favourite thing to do naked. But what about vernissages, hiking or dancing?

I was curious when my friend told me about a naked rave for the first time. She was going to play there with her collective Avalon, she said, on the naked floor of the Am Bach Festival in Lucerne. At first they thought that only the dancers would be naked. But no, everyone had to be naked.

Not even an undie? Not even an undie.

Another friend tells me about the Berlin club Ficken 3000, where only the DJs are naked. In this country, naked raves are the exception rather than the rule. It doesn't seem to be so firmly anchored in our (night) culture. Even Swiss rappers only sing about ‘going to the Rhine without a towel’, but not naked. Except perhaps Faber, together with Dino Brandão and Sophie Hunger: when it gets ‘warm in the house’, the ‘sauna for the poor’, he postulates:

‘Come on, take a step back, I'm already naked.’

I started dancing a year ago. It was my attempt to find a sport that was enjoyable for its own sake. My friend explained to me at the time that airy clothes felt much better when dancing than well-fitting ones. The clothes move with you, they touch you. So why dance naked?

The Avalon collective has been thinking for a year about how night and dance culture could be organised differently. One idea would be so-called ‘tender raves’. These take place in a flat in Clarastrasse, lined with white, fluffy carpet. People dance there with naked feet or in socks and drink Crémant or ‘Blöterliwasser’ (mineral water). It usually starts at 6 pm and is over by 10 pm. This means that people who prefer to dance in the evening rather than at night can also take part. There are many reasons for this, care commitments are just one of them.

In mid-August, the collective is bringing the first Naked Rave to Basel: ‘Let's try something new’, they write in the announcement. Only FINTA people are invited to this first attempt. It's a cliché that comes true: No anarchic piles of shoes as usual, the shoes are neatly lined up. I'm welcomed by a person who sits on a stool, naked –except for an open gown – with her legs crossed and explains the rules: I get a paper bag with my name on it for my belongings. There's a shower with small towels. I can recognise the awareness team by their temporary heart tattoos.

Is it a sex party? Some people ask me in advance. Absolutely not, I say firmly. A naked rave is not about creating a space for sexual encounters. It's just about dancing naked. However, there remains the legitimate question as to how consensual, sexual encounters are dealt with at a naked rave. Is snogging allowed? Is it ok to make out? And what about the carpet, which usually invites people to lie on top of each other? Does it do the same this time? I'm against automatically sexualising nudity. Isn't that exactly the point? To reclaim our nudity, our materiality, in other contexts.

There are fewer people than usual in the Avalon flat for this naked rave. There is a person limit so that there's enough space to dance and we don't have to touch each other. People tend to be more cautious. We are aware of how vulnerable we are. I think twice before I hug a person in greeting. And I realise how much I like this caution. It makes me rethink the rigid code of (night) cultural spaces, and perhaps even reveals it for the first time.

Throughout my youth, I thought it was normal to be touched or humped in the club. It was just how people ‘flirted’. Today there is more awareness, many places do have awareness concepts and code names that I can call out at the bar if I feel uncomfortable. Nevertheless, for many people, unwanted, unsolicited touching is as much a part of nightlife as shots with badly aged names and endless toilet queues. Do we have to be naked to respect boundaries? It's a paradox, but being naked makes me feel less sexualised, less judged. Your outfit suddenly doesn't matter anymore, says a friend. I can finally see all your tattoos, says another.

I ended up making out at the naked rave anyway. What the hell, I thought, I'm already naked.

Addendum: A few weeks after the rave, I'm at the opening aperitif of the Kunattage Basel (Basel Art Days) at Acqua. Would nudity here also be able to shake up the rigid codes of the Basel art scene? Instead of networking, I'm standing alone at a small table eating a pile of cured ham. My companion is somewhere, doing everything right. I, on the other hand, refuse. The only conversation I have that evening ends with me learning a new phrase: ‘Ans Bläch schutte’ (to kick the metal sheet). It probably means something like giving yourself an edge. So I watch the carefully dressed people as I carefully ‘schutt ans Bläch’. I decide to suggest it to the Kunsttage for next year: a naked aperitif to raise general awareness of invisible codes and boundaries. Maybe even FINTA only. I'll keep you updated.

LI