So here's the thing. I didn’t grow up thinking, you know what would really make my life better? More nudity. I wasn’t some mystical forest child twirling through the grass with daisy chains on my nipples. I was a fully clothed, slightly neurotic, Target-bra-wearing woman with a Costco membership and a tendency to apologize when someone else bumps into me. The most skin I used to show was when I wore those tiny socks that don’t even cover your heel. And now here I am, writing a whole damn book about living naked. Life is weird.

I’m Kristin. I’m 38. I’ve had 11 boyfriends, 2 existential crises, and one very unfortunate run-in with a cactus during a naked desert retreat. I live a mostly nude lifestyle now, and no, that doesn’t mean I’m just constantly trying to seduce the mailman (although he did once say I “radiate chaotic energy,” which I took as a compliment and possibly a warning). Being naked is about freedom, not flirting. It’s about letting your skin breathe, your boobs bounce, and your soul scream into the void while you’re lying face down in the grass after two glasses of chardonnay.

This book is my love letter to that freedom. And maybe also a strongly worded complaint to whoever decided jeans were the default pant. Have you ever tried to put on skinny jeans after sitting naked in a beanbag for three hours? It’s like wrestling a denim snake that hates you.

But I digress.

This book isn’t just about me parading around in the nude like some sort of overly confident woodland sprite (although there is some of that, and yes, there’s a mushroom story you won’t forget). It’s about exploring what happens when you strip everything away. Literally. The clothes, the expectations, the Spanx that make your intestines weep.

It’s also educational, kind of. I’ll share tips on going nude at home without accidentally flashing your neighbor’s kid, how to attend your first nude event without sweating through your soul, and how to respond when your best friend Tanya says “my ass is way perkier than yours” in front of your new boyfriend. Spoiler: you tackle her into the pool and she deserves it.

There will be stories. Some of them involve squirrels. One of them involves Susan farting during a full moon ceremony and blaming it on a “shift in cosmic pressure.” There will be tips, tricks, and the occasional nipple slip of wisdom. You’ll laugh. You might cringe. You’ll definitely learn what not to do with body glitter.

But mostly, this is a celebration. Of skin. Of joy. Of weird bodies and weirder dreams.

If you’ve ever looked at your clothes and thought “what if... no,” then this book is for you.

Take off your pants. Get cozy. Let’s get weird.