“Should we apply to go on Sunday??? 👀” My friend, who was coming to visit me in New York City the following weekend, had DMed me a post from The Füde Experience, an intimate, candlelit, members-only dinner party where you eat among strangers. Sounds pretty normal, right? Except for the part where you quite literally strip down, leaving your clothes and inhibitions at the door to have dinner completely naked.
Founded and hosted by Charlie Ann Max, a model and artist, the idea behind The Füde Experience is to combine nudity and plant-based food to bring people a safe space where they can connect and express themselves openly, unpacking their thoughts, ideas, and vulnerabilities, no holds barred. The event isn’t meant to be sexual in any way. On the contrary, it’s more about just getting comfortable existing in your body as it is. As a writer, I’ve attended tons of events around nudity over the years, but none like this. I didn’t have to prepare with a new set of lingerie or hair and makeup (like when I attended my first sex party). In fact, I didn’t even shave my armpits.
Even though we were going to be fully naked, I was curious, for sure, but not nervous. I don’t think it came as a surprise to anyone in my life that I wanted to try The Füde Experience—one of my friends said, “That’s so you,” and my fiancé was supportive as always. When I brought it up, he said he wished he could join if he hadn’t been going out of town for work and that it seemed like a unique experience I should have.
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My dinner date—the friend who’d sent me the IG post earlier in the week—and I obviously had questions: Will it be awkward? What will it feel like to eat naked? When do we take off your clothes? We figured out the answer to the last one pretty immediately as we gathered outside the venue (an unassuming, industrial-looking building) the night of the dinner, along with other fully clothed women, non-binary folks, and one man who came with his partner. Everyone seemed genuinely eager and excited, anticipating what was to come beyond the heavy metal sliding door of the secret location.
Once we were led inside, we were greeted by nude Füde Experience volunteers and clothing racks, ready to take our clothes as soon as we walked through the door. One woman I met outside shrugged and said, “Well, I guess it’s time!” as she removed her pale blue shirt. My friend and I smiled, almost giggling at each other as we stripped down.
Completely undressing in front of strangers has a way of reminding you of just how many layers we actually wear: jacket, shoes, socks, pants, shirt. It felt weird at first, but after getting down to my underwear, the natural next step was to shed everything. I didn’t really notice my surroundings until I was completely naked, and when I finally looked around, I took in the room—full of strikingly human bodies congregating around one long table, with stunning floral centerpieces lit up by the warm glow of candle sticks.
We were each handed a spoon with a cucumber gazpacho hors d’oeuvre, and rather than standing in the corner awkwardly, everyone started introducing themselves and asking questions—almost as if being nude forced us to be bolder and less guarded. “Hi, everyone,” Charlie announced, after a few minutes of mingling. “I’d love to invite you over here.” She ushered us onto white sheets spread across the floor for a breath-work session before dinner. As we migrated, I noticed how good it felt to be so exposed to other people without feeling sexualized. Before this, whenever I was newly naked around people, the situation was inherently sexual. But this time, everyone was just existing with their naked bodies on display.
Charlie asked us to move around and get comfortable—encouraging us to dance, twirl, stretch, move our heads side to side, laugh, and scream—before we lay on the ground to begin our breath-work practice for half an hour. I felt overwhelmed by the sensation and was caught off guard by the depth of it, wanting to reach for my friend’s hand for comfort. I paid attention to the way my body felt, the emotions I was releasing from the week and even thought about past trauma I had healed from. My body felt hot, then cold, then tingly with each breath. I felt gratitude, liberation, happiness, sadness, joy. During those 30 minutes with our eyes closed, we collectively felt and found closeness, both within ourselves and with each other.
Then it was time for dinner. Every Füde Experience night has a theme, and ours was Integral Presence, which meant that our guided conversation, moderated by Charlie, would center around the topic of “integrity.” By then, everyone seemed so relaxed, it was almost like we forgot we were naked. I said hello to the strangers sitting around me and was surprised at how little they actually felt like strangers even though we hadn’t formally met before. As everyone started to chat, the starter dishes came out, including a delicious braided bread with lavender chive botanical butter, and later, a coconut labneh. After a few minutes, the conversation portion began.
Charlie asked us questions like, “What does integrity mean to you? How do you live with integrity in your own life?” and everyone took turns answering. We also had time to talk casually without prompts, and instead of the standard, “So, what do you do?” question, everyone seemed to be talking about things that were meaningful to them—sharing intimate details about their sex lives, about how the event has helped them be more confident in their nudity, about living their lives genuinely and with purpose. No one was on their phones. Instead of feeling self-conscious or awkward, like I thought I might, I was engrossed in conversation. There was no alcohol at the event either—a stark and refreshing difference from any other dinner party I’ve been to.
The main course was plantain mangu, cumin-braised leek, and lemon chickpea puree. By that point, being naked felt incredibly easy. One person pointed out that maybe it felt that way because nudity was the natural way of things—how we were originally “supposed” to live. Finally, they served dessert: a turmeric poppyseed cake with strawberry rhubarb compote and rose coconut cream.
At the end of the night, Charlie asked us all one final question: “If this was your first time here, how has it felt for you?” I raised my hand first and said that it felt like I’d removed a mask, genuinely allowing myself to connect with others. Another woman said, “I haven’t felt this way since I was a little girl,” which made me realize that just existing in your naked body in a nonsexual way, regardless of how you might feel about it, can be incredibly healing. This experience gave us the space to love and appreciate ourselves, each of us connecting with our inner child along the way. Some even remarked that coming back to these dinners again and again has helped them battle body dysmorphia and gain confidence.
As for me, I just felt incredible gratitude. I wasn’t judging my body for what I don’t like about it, I was just simply existing in it. I felt full and accepting of my queerness. I felt expansive love for my primary partner and appreciation for my ability to love others equally. I was grateful for the other guests and their vulnerability and trust. I left feeling free, accepted, and perfect just the way I am. It turns out that the weirdest part about going to a nude dinner party isn’t being naked but having to put your clothes back on at the end.
Hayley Folk is a writer and editor based in New York City. She enjoys creating content on travel, LGBTQ+, lifestyle, personal narratives and sex and wellness. Her work has appeared in Refinery29, Men’s Health, PopSugar, Bustle, and more. Most often, she can be found on an airplane, thrifting, or writing in a coffee shop somewhere.
