New York Times Op-Eds">

Sloane Crosley Brings the "New Naked," Hipsters to New York Times Op-Eds

New York writer and bestselling author, recently of the essay collection How Did You Get This Number, Sloane Crosley popped up on the Sunday op-ed pages of the New York Times with some conspicuous subject matter amid the takes on farming, medicine and Central Asian economics. Her piece leads with "a crowded field of drunken and sweaty hipsters" as an example of the increasing "casual nudity" during this blistering New York City summer. "Welcome to the New Naked," she writes. Thanks for having us!

She goes on:

There was, once upon a time, a roaming date each spring when women peeled off their tights and put on their sundresses and men openly ogled and privately blogged about it. Like sexy groundhogs, these women and their bare calves were genuine markers of winter's end. So official had this Naked Day become that we should have made commemorative buttons. Or ribbons. Though God knows where we'd have pinned them.

But now Naked Day has melted into Naked Week, which has melted into Naked Month, which looks like it's about to melt into "Underwear: What's That Extra Layer For, Anyway?"

And she's right. Just yesterday, the Times christened July 2010, "The Cruelest Month," in an article called "Out of Frying Pan, Into August." That piece, too, featured naked hipsters (see left). Naked, cooking hipsters: "So after work, she throws off her pants and shirt and dives into a menu heavy on vegetables and cold soups," we learned. And I called the paper sexless! You just have to know where to look apparently.

Crosley manages to get not only M.I.A. into her opinion column, but also the indie duo Sleigh Bells. Cred abounds. But all you need to go naked, according to Crosley, is confidence, not even looks:

You no longer need to be a supermodel wrapped in cellophane and calling it fashion to disrobe in public. With the Heat Wave From Hell, a whole lot of us have made the conscious decision to let go and expose ourselves, to run around like chickens with our clothes cut off.

But it won't last forever: "Come fall, the New Naked will disappear behind cardigans and overcoats." And there's nothing sexy about a cardigan." Get it while it's, uh, hot.

Eight Million Bodies in the Naked City [NYT]


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