They say there are a million stories in the naked city.  I just want to know one:  Why is it a naked city?

I’ve been living in San Francisco for two years and many things about it still mystify me, but none is more bewildering than the fact that it is the most clothing-optional city in the US.  At any moment – WHAM! – there can be somebody naked standing in front of you or walking alongside you or crashing into you as you come out of the grocery store.  For some reason San Franciscans are always on the lookout for a reason to drop trou.  Sometimes it’s for a special occasion like Halloween or the Bay to Breakers race or Gay Pride.  Sometimes it’s just – oh – Tuesday.  And the law says that’s perfectly all right – as long as they’re not visibly aroused, disorderly or try to sit on public property without a drop cloth.

The fact that people can walk around undraped here isn’t the weird part.  It isn’t even shocking.  Pro-nudist laws are completely consistent with the “we don’t need your fascist rules, man” ethos of San Francisco.  Even so, I was surprised the day I was waiting to cross a street downtown when I noticed a woman strolling toward the Embarcadero wearing only running shoes.  Only shoes.  My own experience made me think she was crazy.  I’m from Seattle, where that’s kind of a requirement for birthday-suiting.  (All right, there is one neighborhood in Seattle that’s an exception, but that’s a whole different post.)  This woman seemed totally rational, though.  And after recovering from my double-take-induced whiplash, the only response I heard from the crowd around me as she continued her walk was, “Pfft, San Francisco.”

Now I’ve moved to Noe Valley, where I’m treated daily to the gang of naked guys who hang out – in all senses of the term – at the corner of Castro and Market.  Not much of a treat, because the nude beach rule holds here, too:  Those who do strip shouldn’t; those who should don’t.  None of these boys is going to appear in an upcoming issue of Out or DNA magazines.

Other than that, naked is fine.  What I don’t get is why here.  This isn’t the tropics.  It’s not Puerto Vallarta.  It’s not even LA.  It gets cold here!  This is the land of layering, where at any moment the wind can pick up or the fog can roll in, the temperature can drop 20 degrees and suddenly you need a parka.  I spent my first August here wearing fleece and using a space heater.  Mark Twain is famously quoted about how cold the summers are here – which you can’t fully appreciate until you’ve experienced one.  At least part of the time, even the naked guys put on sweatshirts.  Still no pants; just sweatshirts.  Personally, I’d protect the jewels first, but that’s just me.

The down side of living in the free and easy city by the bay is that no one has an answer.  Like most of the questions I have about why San Francisco is the way it is, the answer is usually a shrug or a blank stare.  Things just are the way they are.  No need to get all bent about it.

So I’ve started sharing here.  I don’t know where I’m going with this.  Guess I just had to vent.

Whew!  Now I feel better.  But seriously, can we please find some hot nudists?