Naked Attraction Is a Brave and Bright Celebration of Body Neutrality

When all six seasons of the British reality TV show Naked Attraction arrived on Max, America was aghast. Amidst mixed responses from the too-quick-to-judge TV-watching population, I find it a refreshingly honest, albeit discomforting, approach to body neutrality, as well as what counts as “good” TV.

Tonally speaking, the show veers into a territory more akin to car shopping, while still singing overtly sexual tunes. With naked bodies revealed, bit by bit (from the lower portion, to the torso, and finally the full body and face), we viewers at home are left just as riveted as the person picking their future date on screen.

Naked Attraction follows one person charged with selecting a mate based on “naked attraction alone.” The premise is simple and straightforward and, like good sex, filled with laughter about what our bodies are capable of, and yet explicitly devoid of gross shame. However, the response to such public displays of our inherent sexuality have warranted outcries of pornographic intent levied at the show’s creators from groups like the Parents Television Council, most notably.

The media watchdog group has even gone so far as to criticize all of HBO, a legacy network known for pushing the envelope of groundbreaking entertainment. (And yes, sometimes that means nudity.) It’s no secret that America remains harmfully and boringly prudish (shoutout Puritanism), but if Naked Attraction is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

A main criticism of the show is its focus on what people look like, which is, of course, the point. What neigh-sayers seem to miss is how wide and varied the tastes of people on the show are. For a little bit of background, the person picking from the selection of “bods in pods” indicates the physical attributes they prefer prior to the taping, and the producers provide them with options as close to that description as possible. While still adhering to what makes “good” TV, in that no bodies are carbon copies of one another in any single round, the show’s producers curate the options to match what the “picker” is looking for. When bigger bodies are rejected for their size, while saddening to witness, it’s handled with social graces and care. It’s also not unheard of on the show to reject someone for being too small-framed, a preference expressed from both men and women alike. One booted singleton coped with the difficulty of elimination by stating that the person choosing “prefers curvy women,” and “curvy is one thing [they’re] not.” How each person handles their bruised ego differs, but the general message of “oh, well” acts as a good enough balm for most unlucky contestants, and demonstrates the proactive thought the show’s creators put into tending to the self-esteem and spirit of those bearing all on air.

Despite the modern trends towards the former, the show is less so about body positivity than it is body neutrality. One recurring device on this front occurs when the final two singletons are left standing in front of the picker “without their kit on.” The competitors are asked to name what parts of the other person’s naked body they like, and it’s a display of how critical we can be of our own physical forms. At the same time, it shows the disparity between how we see ourselves and how other people see us.

The elephant in the room (or rather, between the legs) is the genitalia on plain and clear display. The show is marketed for adults, approved by the FCC, and sandwiched in between viewer warnings of nudity and language. The fear of impressionable audiences finding the show on the Max streaming platform speaks volumes to the avoidance of sexual culture and abject fear regarding sexual matters in society, while also pointedly averting the responsibilities of parents to monitor television usage and ignoring the option of a parental-locked account altogether. A standout element worked into the show’s segments are factoids, statistics, and taboo-breaking bits of information about things like anatomy, the history of certain sexual positions such as scissoring, trends in grooming and body hair, and tips for pleasuring your partner. Such conversations normalize bodies and sex, a goal of the show, thus eliminating shame, fear, and undue insecurity from the conversation of physical attraction.

In terms of quality of production, as well as the type of people featured, the show has changed increasingly from season to season. I will admit that the early contestants, as well as the filming, could be described by our peers across the pond as rather “minging,” but over the course of the show’s run, it has improved significantly. People have more of a glint behind their eyes, appear more confident, and, well, in general… hinged. Something I have considered long and hard (pun intended), is how these brave souls will fare after they return to their everyday lives, after the whole of England, and now America, have seen their “bits and bobs” under the glean of multi-colored studio lighting. Are you willing to bare all for the sake of love? For those who have a healthy relationship to their natural form, this doesn’t seem to deter them from taking the risk.

What I love about this show, and so many others have voiced in agreement, is the broad spectrum of sexual expression, gender identity, personality, and physique Naked Attraction features. From a virgin to a polyamorous couple looking for a third, the show runs the gamut in terms of representing different experiences with sexual expression. Through that diversity, the show celebrates the many ways people, like you and me, engage with their physical forms, flirtation, and an innate desire for intimacy. 

The birds do it. The bees do it. Even the people on TV do it. And, mixed feelings aside, that’s what makes Naked Attraction a stand-out series—and certainly nothing to be so prudish towards. 

Felicia Reich is an intern at Paste.

For all the latest TV news, reviews, lists and features, follow @Paste_TV.