Edgar Degas, The Bathers, 1885/95
In my last blog, I reflected on the freedoms men experience from the historical and societal baggage women often carry about their bodies. This led me to wonder: do women have a space where they can truly feel free, unburdened by societal expectations? A space that embraces body image not in the sphere of good vs. bad, but just is?
In the Western world, such spaces seem rare. If they exist, they might be found in niche communities, but I am unaware of a space that widely embraces/celebrates the female nude without a sexual connotation. However, I didn’t realize until recently that I grew up in a culture that embraces nudity in a way that is free from these social constraints—the Japanese onsen (hot spring).
The onsen is an integral part of Japanese culture, stemming from Japan’s geographical location on tectonic fault lines, providing abundant access to hot springs. It’s a cherished tradition in my family and a space where women can unwind and connect. Growing up, I didn’t analyze the experience of going to an onsen, it was simply a routine part of life. I went with parents, grandparents, and friends. It was never limited to an exclusive close nit group of people. For us, it was a way to relax and enjoy each other’s company. It never felt strange, quite the opposite. It was normal to be in a communal space where everyone is nude, almost mundane. I never connected the Japanese onsen to body image until I had a lightbulb moment.
I sat on one side of the bath, the chatter of other bathers fading beneath the gentle trickle of hot spring water. In my peripheral, women of different generations shared the space—one resting on the tub’s ledge, the other offering advice as she soaked her body, absorbing the water’s rich minerals. Under the clear summer night sky, a cool breeze caressed my face, and I slowly drifted into contemplation, reflecting on the deeper significance of this experience.
In the onsen, women strip away all markers of social status—clothing, makeup, and accessories. We are barefaced, equal human beings with nothing to signify wealth, occupation, or societal standing. We are not hiding behind any of these markers, we can just be. The Japanese onsen allowed space to form my own thoughts about body image. This space feels safe, free from judgment or comparison. It is profoundly comforting to be surrounded by strangers and yet feel entirely at ease, and safe.
Another element that I only appreciated once I got older, was how the onsen exposes bodies of all ages in a way that is rarely seen in the Western world. In the Eurocentric society, aging bodies are often hidden for the most part in society and only truly seen through familial interactions. Marketing campaigns and online commentary often frame aging as something to be ashamed of, bombarding us with messages to fight wrinkles, sagging skin, and other natural changes.
By contrast, in the onsen, aging bodies are simply part of the landscape. There is no shame in the wrinkles, rolls, scars, groomed, or ungroomed. Instead, these bodies tell stories of life lived. In this sense, I find that being exposed to communal nudity in the form of the Japanese onsen allows us to have a healthy expectation of our own body image.
Women of all ages—young, old, and everything in between—share the space without pretense, chatting and relaxing. Being surrounded by real, unfiltered bodies has grounded my expectations of aging and exposed the fictional myths of the ‘ideal body’ that society perpetuates. It is liberating to exist in a space where no one is preoccupied with judgments about appearance.
The onsen is a space where the weight of societal expectations is washed away. There, we are free from the male gaze and the relentless pressure to uphold narrow standards of femininity. We are left with nothing but our thoughts and the company of other women. It’s a space of liberation, where the mind is unburdened and the soul feels at peace.
This experience made me realize how little we in the West are exposed to the reality of aging bodies. Perhaps this lack of exposure contributes to the fear and shame surrounding aging. If we saw more images of aging bodies in non-sexualized, everyday contexts, would we start to embrace aging as a natural and beautiful part of life?
For me, the onsen represents a profound sense of freedom. People mind their own business, yet there is an unspoken camaraderie. The experience feels both deeply personal and universally shared. As an artist, I find myself grappling with how to translate this into a painting. How do I capture the essence of this space—its quiet strength, its lack of judgment, its celebration of humanity stripped of societal adornments?
This is the space I long for—a space of acceptance, equality, and liberation. And as I reflect on this, I am inspired to process these feelings through my art, seeking to share the onsen’s profound impact with others.
