The Difference Between a Streaker and Someone Who Runs Around Naked

A streaker is not just someone who runs around naked. A streaker understands the legal, ethical, sexual, and metaphysical implications of baring one’s ass to the night, of letting one’s loins breathe the dewy breath of the inky darkness, of casting one’s clothes to the literal and metaphorical wind.

A streaker knows the difference between nakedness and nudity. A streaker feels keenly the fetters of the superego that tells us to keep our bodies hidden, and when the true streaker unleashes the force of one’s bare body—whether it be buff, skinny, or chubby—the streaker truly understands the meaning of that brave gesture.

A streaker chooses his time and place wisely. The streaker doesn’t just throw his or her clothes off anywhere: the streaker waits until his or her soul cries for release, until his coiled cock or her cotton-smothered vagina verily wail for that sacred freedom. If the time is not right, the streaker will go so far as to shower clothed, or to have sex by merely unzipping a fly. This is inconvenient and sometimes painful, but the true streaker knows that the nude can be undermined by the naked.

The mundane clothes-droppers of this world do not know what it is to streak; that realm of knowledge is lost to them as they slump clotheslessly waiting for their burrito to finish cooking in the microwave, or as they lie in front of an electric fan having shed their clothes for the banal utility of temperature regulation. The true steaker pities those shallow simpletons.

An ordinary naked person thinks that one’s body is one’s own. The true streaker knows that the skin is our point of contact with Gaia, with Eros, with Belushi, with all the gods who smile down upon our perfect imperfection. The true streaker worries not about boob jobs or penile implants.

A naked person is selfish: he or she has shed his or her garments for a reason, a reason that has nothing to do with the greater good. There’s no risk involved, no vulnerability. A streaker, on the other hand, gives: the streaker sacrifices dignity, comfort, and possibly a clean criminal record for the greater good. When you next see a streaker, receive that man or woman gratefully. A bow would be appropriate, or perhaps a genuflection. But keep your damn clothes on unless you are ready to become an apprentice and begin the long, hard, but supremely rewarding journey to understanding, to freedom, to streaking.

– Jay Gabler

Photo by Jan Willemsen (Creative Commons)