Attending a Nude Dinner Party Changed How I Feel About My Body

As a designer and artist, my work has always been centered around the female body—the Love Handles vase I first created in 2019 (which is sculpted in the shape of a bottom) has become my brand’s signature, and I have turned intimate body parts into fun everyday objects, from candle holders to salt and pepper shakers. My work questions the idea of perfection, celebrating diverse body types, with big bums, small bums, big boobs, little boobs. But it wasn’t until I was invited to attend a nude dinner party that I realized I wasn’t at all comfortable with my own naked body.

It came about when Charlie Ann Max, the founder of the Füde Experience (which organizes dinner parties with a twist: everyone is naked) asked me to host an event in my studio and to design the table settings for her. It was an obvious fit for my work: my entire brand ethos, just like Füde’s, is about celebrating different body types and womanhood. We could serve canapés in my “Foreplates” (serving plates modeled on naked breasts), elderflower pressé would be poured from my “Jugs Jug” vases, and naked guests would perch on the metal chairs I designed featuring playful swirls that resemble breasts. What a fun and clever way to show off my new homeware line (which I playfully named Amuse Bush), I thought. “And you’ll then stay with us when you’ve finished dressing the table?” Charlie asked in a planning meeting ahead of the event. “Oh no, no!” was my immediate reaction. This was a wonderful thing for other women, but not something I could ever do myself.

I am the type of person who hates getting undressed in the gym, who doesn’t know where to look when women stride towards the showers without a towel, or blow dry their hair with their boobs out. I feel incredibly awkward getting undressed in front of male doctors, and usually request a female gynaecologist. Even getting undressed for massages makes me uncomfortable. Despite making a career out of celebrating the female body, and turning bums and breasts into everyday objects, I had never confronted the fact that I have a problem with my own naked body—and how other women perceive it—until I received this invitation.

As much as I hated the idea of meeting strangers totally naked, it didn’t feel right to host the event in my space only to leave before the canapés started circulating. So, I reluctantly accepted, then tried to distract myself by obsessively planning the number of anthuriums that would line the tables, and which colors of fabric to drape around the studio. Two days before, I panicked. “I’m really sorry, but I will have to leave when the event starts,” I told Charlie over the phone. “I can’t do this.” She wasn’t at all judgemental or offended. “I promise you, if you stay it won’t be difficult for you,” she said gently. “Trust me.” I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Okay,” I thought. “Come on Anissa, just do it.”

It didn’t help that on the day of the event I was bombarded with text messages from male friends saying things like, “Need an extra waiter?” Phones weren’t allowed during the event, so during the set up, I got a welcome respite from curious friends’ WhatsApps. When I was putting the final touches of foliage on the table, I walked into the kitchen and Charlie and her team members Maya and Yasmin (all of whom had arrived clothed) were already in the nude. I was surprised, but it didn’t feel weird—there was such a sense of sisterhood and trust between them. They didn’t say anything to me and so I didn’t feel any pressure to undress, but I decided to take off my top and bra, measure how I felt, and then see if I would be able to go any further.