Let’s Talk About Willies

A woman’s perspective on the penis, naturism, and why men really need to stop worrying quite so much

There are certain subjects women are apparently supposed to approach delicately.

Periods. Menopause. Vaginas. Breasts.

And willies.

Actually, especially willies.

So naturally, I thought we should talk about them.

Because after spending time around naturists, I have reached an important conclusion about the penis:

Men worry about them considerably more than women do.

There. I’ve said it.

And before somebody starts rummaging through their underwear drawer looking for a tape measure, put it down.

We’re going somewhere more interesting than that.

The first thing you notice is how different they all are

One of the lovely things about naturism is that eventually the naked human body becomes wonderfully ordinary.

You stop seeing nudity and start seeing people.

And, yes, if you happen to be a woman surrounded by naked men, sooner or later you also discover that penises apparently received the evolutionary instruction:

“Just improvise.”

Longer ones. Shorter ones.

Thicker ones. Thinner ones.

Circumcised ones. Uncircumcised ones.

Some apparently looking confidently out at the world.

Others seemingly trying to retreat back inside their owner because somebody opened a window.

And absolutely none of this matters.

That is perhaps one of the most liberating things naturism teaches us.

There isn’t one correct way for a human body to look.

Gentlemen, we need to discuss the cold

Every naturist woman eventually witnesses something that should really be narrated by David Attenborough.

A man walks confidently towards cold water.

He enters the water.

Moments later he emerges looking vaguely betrayed by his own anatomy.

Apparently there used to be more of him.

This isn’t imagination.

Cold causes temporary physiological changes as the body attempts to conserve heat. Muscles around the genital area contract, the testicles are drawn closer to the body, and the penis can temporarily appear smaller.

In other words, gentlemen, science has officially confirmed your excuse.

It was the water.

The Cleveland Clinic describes this response as completely normal and temporary. Once the body warms again, everything generally returns to its usual state.

Which means perhaps the worst possible moment to conduct an assessment of one’s masculinity is immediately after swimming outdoors in Wales.

And then there are growers and showers

This is something naturism makes hilariously obvious.

A flaccid penis tells you remarkably little about what happens when it becomes erect.

Some men are colloquially described as “showers”, meaning there is comparatively less change between the flaccid and erect states.

Others are “growers”.

And some appear to be practising advanced-level origami.

The important point is that comparing flaccid penises doesn’t tell you very much.

Yet changing rooms, pornography and male banter have encouraged generations of men to do exactly that.

Shall we get the ruler out?

No.

But science already has.

One of the best-known systematic reviews examined measurements from up to 15,521 men.

The researchers calculated an average flaccid length of approximately 9.16 cm and an average erect length of approximately 13.12 cm.

Average.

Not minimum acceptable specification.

Not entry requirement.

Not the point at which a gentleman receives his certificate of masculinity.

Average.

Human beings naturally vary around averages, which is precisely what averages describe.

And there is something particularly interesting about men’s perceptions of all this.

A 2026 review of research into men’s understanding of normal penis size found that men commonly believed above-average sizes were normal and could consequently perceive themselves as small despite actually falling within the normal range.

In other words, sometimes the problem isn’t the willy.

It’s the ruler inside the man’s head.

The woman’s-eye view is rather different

This is where I can only speak from a woman’s perspective.

When women encounter ordinary naked male bodies in a non-sexual naturist environment, we aren’t standing there conducting assessments.

There isn’t a judging panel.

Nobody is holding up scorecards.

“Lovely personality, Dave, but unfortunately Brenda has deducted two points for girth.”

It simply isn’t happening.

Mostly we’re wondering whether somebody remembered the tea bags.

That distinction matters because the penis has accumulated an extraordinary cultural burden.

It has somehow become associated with masculinity, sexual ability, confidence, dominance and even personal worth.

That is an awful lot of responsibility to give a relatively small piece of anatomy.

Especially one capable of dramatically changing its appearance because the weather turned chilly.

Men are more vulnerable about this than they sometimes admit

This is where the giggling stops for a moment.

Research suggests genital insecurity isn’t trivial.

In a nationally representative US study, around 20% of men reported dissatisfaction with their genital size, while almost a quarter expressed some discomfort about allowing a healthcare professional to examine their genitals.

Another study involving 3,503 Swedish men and women found that 33.8% of participants were dissatisfied with the appearance of their genitalia.

So when a man makes a joke about his penis, perhaps sometimes it really is just a joke.

But sometimes humour is armour.

Women understand that phenomenon extremely well.

We have spent generations being taught to scrutinise breasts, stomachs, bottoms, thighs, labia, wrinkles, hair and practically every other square centimetre of ourselves.

It shouldn’t surprise us that men have their own version.

Naturism quietly dismantles the mythology

Pornography presents selected bodies.

Advertising presents selected bodies.

Social media presents selected bodies.

Naturism presents people.

And that’s why I think seeing ordinary naked bodies can be profoundly reassuring.

You discover that the human population doesn’t actually resemble the tiny percentage of bodies selected for entertainment and advertising.

Bodies sag.

Bodies wobble.

Breasts aren’t identical.

Vulvas vary enormously.

Penises vary enormously.

Testicles seem occasionally to have disagreements about which altitude they prefer.

And somehow civilisation continues.

Research has even identified pornography, comparison with peers and appearance-related teasing as influences among men who became dissatisfied enough with their penis size to pursue augmentation procedures.

That should make us think.

Because if comparison helped create the anxiety, perhaps encountering ordinary human diversity can help dismantle it.

The etiquette of the unexpected erection

And now we arrive at the question newcomers sometimes desperately want to ask.

What if a man gets an erection at a naturist event?

Firstly, nobody sounds an alarm.

A small emergency response team does not descend from the ceiling.

And nobody rings the BBC.

Bodies sometimes do things without consulting their owners.

An erection is a physiological response, and context matters enormously.

Naturist etiquette is really very simple: don’t make it somebody else’s problem.

Sit down. Cover yourself discreetly if appropriate. Give your body a moment to reconsider its life choices.

What matters isn’t the existence of a bodily response.

It’s behaviour.

Respect remains respect whether somebody is wearing three layers of clothing or nothing whatsoever.

And women really aren’t analysing you

This is perhaps the thing I would most like men who feel nervous about naturism to understand.

Your body doesn’t arrive before you do.

You arrive.

Your smile.

Your conversation.

Your kindness.

Your humour.

Whether you make somebody a cup of tea.

Whether you notice the person sitting alone and invite them into the conversation.

Whether people feel comfortable around you.

Those things make an impression.

The dimensions of your penis really don’t.

And after five minutes chatting, nobody can remember what it looked like anyway.

Unless perhaps you’ve tied a little flag to it.

Please don’t tie a little flag to it.

There is something wonderfully equal about nakedness

Clothing can communicate wealth, occupation, status and belonging.

Nakedness removes much of that theatre.

And men’s bodies deserve the same generosity that naturism asks us to extend towards women’s bodies.

No ranking.

No ridicule.

No unrealistic expectations.

No assumption that one anatomical feature determines someone’s masculinity or worth.

A penis is simply part of a man’s body.

Sometimes useful.

Sometimes inconvenient.

Occasionally badly behaved.

Frequently misunderstood.

And apparently extremely sensitive to Welsh weather.

But never a measurement of the man attached to it.

Perhaps that’s the bigger lesson.

Naturism isn’t really about learning to become comfortable seeing other people’s bodies.

It’s about learning that bodies don’t need to compete with one another in the first place.

Every body has its peculiarities.

Every body changes.

Every body deserves dignity.

And perhaps if more men experienced ordinary, non-sexual social nudity, fewer would spend their lives wondering whether they measure up.

Because gentlemen, from where I’m standing, you probably already do.

So here’s my question: has naturism changed the way you think about your own body — and the bodies of other people?

Research referenced

David Veale and colleagues’ systematic review of professionally measured penile dimensions included data from up to 15,521 men and established clinical reference ranges for flaccid, stretched and erect dimensions.

Research into genital self-image has also demonstrated that dissatisfaction and distorted perceptions of what constitutes “normal” can affect otherwise physically normal men, while sociocultural influences including comparison with peers and pornography have been identified in research examining penis-size concerns.