First it was London, now Paris, as France has decided to get in on the fun with the opening of its first ever nude restaurant called O’Naturel. Okay, we have to admit, that name is really clever. It’s a good name for a naked restaurant. But still, we can’t help but wonder how our Parisian cousins will deal with the experience of eating naked.
Personally, we suspect that if the British can come to terms with it then so can the French. Especially because they’re already much more comfortable with nudity with a bigger naturist community and more nude beaches, campsites and swimming pools than you can shake a stick at. However, we at DigZoo are not convinced about this whole naked eating fad. If you’re wondering why we’re so prudish. Well, we ask you to consider exhibit A.
Ooph, that's not good. Are those leather seats?
But, yeah, you see that guy on the left? You seeing that? You seeing those saggy man-breasts complete with billy-goat-grey fluff draped across his cavernous cleavage? Do you see that man in the background who’s stood up with a black bar censoring his penis? Do you see him? Do you see his substitute-teacher-lookalike face? His scrawny arms? His distended diaphragm?
We do. We see it all.
We don’t want to see that while we’re eating. Maybe we’re prudes because we don’t want to be faced with the sad crumpled image of a flaccid penis as we try and eat some surf and turf. But personally we believe that there’s nothing wrong with saying, “we don’t want to see other people’s genitals while eating.” No butt-crack stuffed with strangely-black hair. No labia that’s discoloured at the edges, and no loose skin struggling to hold onto a bony frame dotted with backne.
Keep that the hell away from me while I’m eating. You know what else? I don’t want to be naked while eating. I don’t want to drop gravy onto my pubic hair. I don’t want to use my finger to scoop spilled tartar sauce off my man-boob because I missed my mouth. I don’t want to even risk the possibility of vindaloo or any spicy food sliding off my fork and landing on the tip of my meat-cucumber. No thank you, sir. Nope nope nope nope.
Nor do I want to be in a position where I drop a fork and wonder whether bending over to pick it up will give someone else a stroke. I don’t want to look across and watch as some poor person stops eating their 30 Euro steak because half way through chewing they glimpsed the chocolate wormhole at the centre of my final frontier.
And we haven’t talked about the slim possibility of bumping into an attractive person.
We all know what I’m on about.
“Is everything okay, sir?” asks a hairless french waiter. "You finished your food forty five minutes ago but haven't asked for the bill."
“Oh it’s fine," I reply, meekly. "I’m just waiting for that young woman to turn a corner so I can think of baseball and hopefully purge this erection that has, until now, prevented me from standing up."
“Uh…would you… would you like a drink refill?"
“Some ice?" I reply. "Some ice might be helpful.”
That’d be mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
But what do you think? Would you be up for it? A lot of people think it’s great because no one has smartphones. That’s cool, I guess? A meal without the internet for once? It’s just I’d rather leave my smartphone at home. I don’t feel like everyone getting bare-b*llock naked is the only way to have a meal without phones. It's an extreme approach when there are equally effective solutions that don't involve genitals. But would you be up for it? And how might you address issues like say, raging erections and gravy-covered pubic hair? Would you just bring wet wipes? Actually... where would you keep the wet wipes?
Let us know in the comments below!