Exposed But Empowered: How a Naked Dip in an Onsen Changed My Perspective

Learning Body Acceptance in the Heart of Japan's Onsen Tradition.

When I was younger, I grappled with insecurities about my body, especially my thighs. It was an era when magazines offered tips on reducing 'thunder thighs,' and boys on the school bus made comments about my ‘booty’. To conceal what I perceived as flaws, I often wore baggy boardshorts and tied jumpers around my waist, especially at pools in the early 2000s.

However, one summer, encouraged by close friends and feeling the support of the sisterhood, I nervously admitted, 'I'm going to swim without boardshorts today, it’s just us after all.'

It felt liberating.

During a recent solo trip to Japan, that sense of liberation returned when I ventured into an outdoor hot spring, completely naked among strangers.

In Japanese culture, onsens or public baths are deeply rooted in tradition, dating back to the 8th century. They thrived during the Edo period, with ryokans near natural springs offering travellers accommodation near the therapeutic waters. Different regions boasted unique onsens, each with distinct mineral compositions and health benefits, reflecting the culture's emphasis on cleanliness and harmony.

Modern onsen rituals maintain many traditions. They often seperate men and women, sometimes enforcing a no-tattoo policy, though exceptions can be found in tourist areas.

Arriving in Tokyo early morning from Sydney, I sought an onsen to wash off the feeling of jetlag. I discovered one outside the city, and as I entered, I left my shoes in a locker, purchased a ticket, and received a locker key for my clothes and a single small cloth (the size of a facewasher).

Before the onsen, a thorough shower is a must to preserve water purity and uphold cultural etiquette.

Before I entered the shower room, I had no nerves. I envisioned it resembling gym showers, perhaps with small cubicles for privacy—a stepping stone before diving into the complete open space. My assumption was far from reality.

The showers stood about 50 centimeters off the ground, arranged in rows with minimal privacy. Most individuals sat on small footstools, shampooing their hair in front of mirrors before rinsing off under the showerheads.

I need to preface this by saying that I am 5’11 and extremely blonde. In a word, I’m conspicuous. I felt like a giant trying to navigate through this miniature shower, protecting my dignity and not overexposing myself but it’s very hard to shampoo your hair thoroughly while trying to cover your nipples. 

Finally, I was physically and spiritually clean, but very stressed about the ordeal. Using my one small cloth for a semblance of coverage, I headed outside and stepped into the closest spring possible. 

There I noticed the women around me. There were mothers and daughters, grandmothers and friends. The oldest - looked to be about 90 - stepped into the water gingerly with some support from other women. No one was avoiding eye contact or staring at the ground, but it never felt disrespectful. Some women were friendly and waved, many just considered the 5’11 in their midst as part of the group. Certainly, nobody cared about how much cellulite or pubic hair was on display. It felt so welcoming. 

After some time, I shook off the fear of being seen. I stepped out of the first spring and worked my way around the different pools with different minerals. I even felt confident enough to step into the sauna room where about 15 Japanese women lounged on pillows in front of a furnace watching a hilarious prank game show. 

I plunged into ice baths with a group of 20 somethings, and dipped into a yellow sulfurous pool promising a detox. I lay on a hot stone in the sun to ease stiffness before stepping into a salt water bath. By the end, I felt so calm and meditative, I didn’t even need my small modesty face cloth to hide behind. It felt like this was our natural state, that we should all be a little more comfortable with our own nudity. 

At the end of the ritual, you head into a dressing room with chairs placed in front of mirrors with lights all around. Each woman sits and completes a skin care routine and blowdries their hair. It felt so ritualistic and beautiful to be dabbing eye cream and combing my hair next to an elderly lady doing the same thing. That day, the sisterhood had transcended age and cultural barriers. It was beautiful. 

I’m not sure if this means I’d be comfortable getting my gear off at the local nudist beach or becoming one of the girls in the gym locker rooms without any fear. But I do think if we had these rituals when I was younger, I wouldn’t have felt so insecure about my body. Growing up, the only comparison was celebrities and Victoria Secret angels who if they did have cellulite, it was plastered on the cover of a magazine with a big red circle saying how they’d let themselves go. In an Onsen, everyone’s body is different to one another but no one was better or worse. 

I’ve often had conversations with girlfriends where they’re lamenting parts of their bodies that are often unseen; the colour of their nipples, the stretch marks on their hips, the bumps of cellulite on their thighs. This is not a means for comparison, rather an acceptance that everyone’s body is unique and still something that makes you proud. 

For me, I’m just proud to not need to hide behind the daggy boardshorts or modesty cloth anymore. 

Photo credit: Sakura Tokyo Onsen, Pinterest