The Elusive Yoni

As a man, many would say I shouldn't even be talking about this (but it looks like I am anyway): it's one of those issues, like toplessness, bralessness, free the nipple, or how a lady chooses to wear her pubic hair, that many would maintain is the sole domain of women, and the discussion and decisions in these matters need to be left up to them, and that men should stay out of!

As long as men support women on these issues, I feel we also have a part to play in the discussion. At no point in this article, or any of my other writing, will you read the words, "women should..." (I try to avoid the word "should" in any context, but it's unavoidable sometimes). Also, as long as male detractors exist, I feel that male supporters should contribute to the conversation, if only to show the detractors up.

Lately, once again, the topic of the sight of female genitals in naturism has come up in naturist circles on social media. It is a theme that has almost certainly been a regular topic of conversation in nudist communities since the earliest days. It is also one that elicits strong opinions, and might even be one of the most contentious issues within naturist protocol.

There's no denying it, the yoni is an elusive body part. Perhaps second only to its close neighbour, the pāyu, it is the least seen body part in naturist settings, a world in which body parts are not exactly known for being hidden away. Part of the explanation for this is of course that the vulva is naturally more hidden that its male counterpart, but modesty—yes, even among nudists—also plays a part.

The modesty element is not unique to the naturist context either, and in fact predates nudism by several millennia. Women in those indigenous groups who still lead naked lives today will also cover and protect their vulvas with well-practised positioning of the thighs or a strategically-placed, tucked up foot; moves that have been perfected over the generations.

There are many naturists, women as well as men, who are of the opinion that the vulva should not be seen in naturism if at all possible, but it is inevitable that it will be/make an.appearance. As we know, due to design differences between the male and female bodies, it is far less visible than its male counterpart -the linga- which is always "out there" in a front-row seat, but even so, during the practice of sports, while swimming and sunbathing, even in simple movements such as standing up and sitting down, the yoni will, on occasion, be seen!

Most nudists do not take issue with this; after all, the vulva is as much a part of the human body as any other, and, as nudists, we believe in the beauty and normality of the human body and all its component parts! Objections begin to arise and opinions diverge when a woman is perceived by some to be acting immodestly – sunbathing with legs akimbo, for example, or not making "sufficient effort" to remain "discreet" while moving from one position to another. The same complaint is made about men who indulge in immodest behaviour too, but the bar for them seems to be set substantially lower.

If it is deemed totally acceptable for male genitals to be constantly visible in naturist settings (and, let's face it, there's not much choice about this), surely it is only right that the sight of female genitals should be equally accepted? In a context where genitals abound and liṅgāni are on almost permanent display, why do women prefer, or maybe feel the pressure, to keep their yonis (or, more accurately, yonayah) hidden away to conform to patriarchal standards and maintain their "modesty"?

Accidental sightings are fine, but, in naturism, showing off and its even more heinous sibling, exhibitionism, can be deeply offensive. An yet a huge part of naturism is about body confidence and body positivity. Isn't showing off just an expression of great body positivity and healthy self-esteem? Isn't it true to say that some showing off is perfectly harmless and, in that key phrase of naturism, non-sexual? And aren't showing off and exhibitionism basically the same thing but at different places along the spectrum – intense showing off overlapping with mild exhibitionism, creating a grey area in between?

So maybe some showing off is acceptable to a point, but exhibitionism, which carries the implication of a sexual element, is not. Once again, we enter into questions of defining where the lines running in the wide area between the extremes of total acceptability and total unacceptability are drawn and the detail of the policing of those lines. 

The hierarchical approach is that the "authority", in this case maybe a club or association, will define and dictate the limits and the off-limits, but in reality, different people's lines fall in different places along the spectrum. For me, naked living is all about freedom—body freedom and individual freedom—so I will always argue on this side. Having standards defined and dictated by an "authority" is something that has never sat comfortably with me.

Once we accept the validity of concepts of body freedom, the freedom of expression and self-determination in this context, we arrive at a similar place as we do with the wider argument surrounding nudism in general; namely whether the human body should (I used that word yet again!) be seen in public at all. If we believe that it is defensible for the naked human body to be seen, and that it occupies a legitimate place in society, it would be inconsistent to propose that some parts of it can be seen but others can't; it has got to be a case of either all or nothing with this one.

If, on the other hand, we adopt a selective approach, we immediately run into parallels with the sort of arguments expounded by certain feminists and groups such as Free the Nipple and Go Topless: just as toplessness has to be alright for either everyone or no one, without discrimination (equality, or rather equity, being the key), so the idea of nudism must include everybody and every body part, without discrimination between different groups of people, and without exception of body parts; it is either nudism or it isn't; not a conditional concept that is applied differently in different circumstances.

As logical as these arguments sound, there's no escaping the fact that if someone has been brought up all their lives to behave in a certain way, it is very difficult to rid themselves of the engrained values imposed upon them by society. If women have always been told to protect their modesty at all costs, as most of them have in this patriarchal society, logic takes second place to instinct: societal standards, taboos, behaviours and "modesty" are all powerful influencers. We see this in different behaviours between men and women, both on- and offline.

Societal norms are not the only consideration; perhaps not even the most important. Many women would prefer to continue with this accepted behaviour, hiding in patriarchal values, not because they continue to believe in these values, but because it suits them for their own comfort and well-being.

They choose an easier, and safer, option rather than subject themselves to unwelcome stares and attention, unwanted comments and accusations and outright harassment, both in real life and, arguably even more disturbingly, online too. Intimidation of this nature is threatening and patriarchal, has no place in nudist contexts, and it is more than understandable that women feel the urge to protect themselves from the onslaught.

In many cultures, for example in Hinduism (where this word comes from), the yoni is sacred:

Yoni (Sanskrit: योनि, IAST: yoni), sometimes called pindika, is an abstract or aniconic representation of the Hindu goddess Shakti. It is usually shown with linga – its masculine counterpart. Together, they symbolize the merging of microcosmos and macrocosmos, the divine eternal process of creation and regeneration, and the union of the feminine and the masculine that recreates all of existence.

          (Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yoni)

It is therefore a great shame that the yoni does not receive the same airtime as the linga or some other body parts. It's as though the yoni (and the pāyu) is the missing piece of the naturist jigsaw puzzle of the human body, without which we don't have the full picture, the "union of the feminine and the masculine that recreates all of existence."

We can quite easily do without the negative overtones and undertones of the continuing-patriarchy in nudism, as well as the inequality of the elusive yoni situation, but what we cannot do without is the assurance of women's tranquility and safety. If less yoni airtime, in both real life situations as well as online photos and videos, is what is needed for women to avoid feeling threatened, then so be it.

The question is not whether we as naturists (men and women) believe it is alright to see the elusive yoni and to publish photos showing yonis in all lights and from all angles—in a nudist context, of course it is. The pertinent question is whether it is advisable to do so in light of the possible consequences. This is where each individual has to make her own decisions, carefully considering the situation and likely outcomes.

This is where, as with all these things, it is up to every individual to exercise her own judgement and to proceed in the way she feels most comfortable. This is where it is up to everyone else –partners, friends, family, fellow nudists– to respect every individual's decision and lend their unfettered support whenever and however necessary.