A six-year old girl telling her mother she thinks she’s too fat.
Two teenagers comparing their bodies wondering why they don’t look the “way they should”.
The young man at the gym because he thinks he’s too skinny.
The older man at the same gym because he thinks he’s too pudgy.
The woman in her thirties online shopping for every cream and lotion available to get rid of cellulite.
The woman in her forties flicking through ads for wrinkle removal.
We’ve all been there at some stage. Some of us never leave that stage and continue to poke, prod and criticise our own appearance. Looking at our thighs in the mirror and lamenting the fact that there may be a blemish, or dimpled skin or just the “wrong” shape. And then try to change it. Why?
There is this mythical creature that is The Ideal Body. We’ve all seen them on screens big and small, in the pages of magazines and even on the street and sighed “why don’t I look like that?”. Or maybe you haven’t. Maybe it’s been just me looking at someone with long legs, slender waist and sleek hair and have lamented the fact that I was born of a gene pool where my legs are more adapted to herding cattle through boggy woods that they are to gracing an ad for stockings.
Truth is, even the supposedly ideal body looks entirely different in real life once you see it without airbrushing, careful lighting or clothes. *gasp* Yes, I mean naked. Completely naked. You see, I grew up in a culture where, from a young age, you would see other human beings naked on at least a weekly basis. *larger gasp* While I understand most of you outside the Nordic sauna culture will possibly struggle to grasp this, for me and millions of others this is the norm. You go to the sauna at least once a week. With your family. N A K E D.
Every house has a sauna. Every apartment building has a sauna. I moved to my first apartment in college and was presented with keys to the front door, keys to my apartment and the rota for your weekly sauna slot for the sauna that was in the basement. You got half an hour every Saturday (the traditional sauna day in Finland) and there also was a free-for-all sauna on Wednesday evenings for two hours where anyone could go. Yes, anyone. Well, anyone who lived in the building. So on Wednesdays you could see your neighbours naked.
Sauna is so ingrained in the Finnish culture, there are very few events that don’t involve stripping down and enjoying the gentle heat. Midsummer: have a sauna and swim. Christmas: have a sauna and a roll in the snow. Visiting friends or family: have a sauna and eat until you burst. Hosting foreign diplomats: have a sauna and discuss politics while in there.
You see, the sauna is a great equaliser. Go into any public swimming pool or a public sauna anywhere in Finland and there you are, among other humans and their bodies. You could be sitting next to a doctor, a teacher, an engineer, an astronaut or a secret agent and everything and anything in between. You don’t know and you don’t care. You don’t care because there you are, all humans with your bodies that all look different and yet somehow the same.
What I am trying to say, in a very convoluted way that is dangerously close to becoming an Ode To The Sauna, is that it’s no wonder that living in Ireland, I’ve come across so many people who seem to think there’s something wrong with their bodies because they don’t look like the ones in ads look like. It took me a while to realise that there’s no weekly nudie routine here. There’s no normality in nudity. There’s nowhere to see another human being naked, unedited, in a neutral setting.
I used to go swimming in the local swimming pool daily, if not more often if I had the time. They urge you to use the sauna and showers before putting on your swimsuit and getting into the pool. The pre-teen me saw women of all walks of life at all stages of life. I saw wobbly bits and hairy bits and smooth bits and toned bits. I learned that all our thighs spread out when we sit down. I learned that we all have belly rolls when we’re sitting hunched over letting the steam roll off your back. I learned that no two bodies look alike.
We used to gather our friends in a cabin by the lake for a night or two, go to the sauna together and have a few drinks, cook some insanely garlic-laden food and stay up until the wee hours talking shite. A mix of males and females, naked in a sauna together is nothing out of the ordinary to a Finn. Nor is it anything sexual. Again, it was a safe environment where you could, quite literally let all hang loose and just be. There was no judgement, nobody pointing out that you didn’t look right, I’m pretty sure nobody was even looking. We were too busy talking. Or just too busy sitting quietly and relaxing.
I understand now what an advantage this was. From a young age I was exposed to the fantastic variety of humanity. My Irish friends did balk at the mere idea of seeing your friends or family naked. I understood that I was so so lucky to grow up in a culture where nudity isn’t necessarily sexual. An old saying in Finland claims that you go into the sauna like you would into a church. Quiet, contemplative and as you are. In the sauna there’s no big beardy guy in the ceiling to tell you you’re going to hell for looking at your neighbour sideways, though so I’ll stick with the sauna, thank you very much.
Yes, we are all bombarded with the images of what is for most of us, unattainable body shape. There’s no avoiding it or even trying to pretend you’re not affected by it, even if it is just for a moment. For most of us, it’s not a just for a moment. But at least I’ve seen the real thing. Not just my own, but those of others. Different shapes and sizes and all beautiful in their own way.
I’m not saying let’s all get naked and take a good long look at each other. The Irish psyche probably wouldn’t be ready for it. But maybe, if you get the opportunity, go to a sauna. Go to a sauna somewhere where it’s a place for cleansing and relaxation. Where you’re not allowed to wear a towel or a swimsuit. Where you are just like everyone else with all of your bits.
