Women of Naturism: Gabby Quinn – Part 1

The Crowned Nudi on Race, Consent, and Why Naturism Needs to Evolve

We have written about naturism from the inside for over a year. Some from very controversial perspectives. We have written about body acceptance, about trust, about what it means to exist in your own skin without apology. And we have written about couples who found something together in clothes-free living and about the community that holds all of it together. The good… and the “needs fixing”.

But there is a voice that has been largely missing from naturism’s online public story. The voice of women. Women who are living this, navigating it, questioning it, and in some cases building it… but who remain largely invisible online in how naturism talks about itself.

Our series Women of Naturism exists to try to change that.

This is an ongoing series of individual profiles. Real women, real stories, told in their own words through in-depth questions that go beyond the easy answers. We are looking for honest accounts of what clothes-free living actually looks like from where each woman stands.

We screen every participant carefully. We ask hard questions. We publish nothing without explicit approval at every stage. And we let the woman’s own voice carry the piece… because that is the only voice that can tell her story accurately.

After conducting a lot of conversations in our time writing about naturism. What came from this first conversation went beyond what we anticipated. Every question answered with depth, clarity, and a willingness to sit with complexity rather than reach for the comfortable answer. No deflections or rehearsed responses. No version of herself felt polished for public consumption.

This is exactly what Women of Naturism exists to find. And we could not have asked for a better conversation to open the series. It was so good, we had to make it two parts.

This is the first Women of Naturism profile. It will not be the last.

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Some people find naturism gradually. A curious friend, a nudist beach on vacation, months of research before finally working up the nerve. Her introduction was none of those things.

In 2023, fresh out of a long abusive relationship and quietly searching for a way to reclaim her body on her own terms, she said yes to a first date at a nudist resort. She had never experienced naturism before. She got undressed immediately and never looked back.

Within two years she had left a career in technology sales, walked away from corporate America entirely, and dedicated herself full time to building what she calls a modern future for naturism. Today she runs a naturist business network, co-hosts a podcast, and developed a naturist event site with her partner… who, as it turns out, was not the person on that first date. That story, like everything about her, is more interesting than the assumption we made.

Born in Kingston, Jamaica and raised in the Bronx, she attended an all-girls high school on Manhattan’s Upper East Side where she was the creative kid… drama, dance, and stories. That love of storytelling led her to the University of the Arts to study screenwriting, and eventually through years in retail and technology before she found her way to something that felt like a calling.

At the core of everything she does is a commitment to diversity, inclusion, and representation. As a Black Jamaican-born woman who is frequently one of the only people of color in clothing-optional spaces, she knows firsthand what it costs when a community’s public face doesn’t reflect the people inside it. She is doing something about that… loudly, intentionally, and with remarkable clarity about both what naturism is and what it still needs to become.

What follows is her story in her own words. We asked hard questions. She answered every one of them.

We want you to meet Gabby Quinn.

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Most people’s introduction to naturism happens gradually, a nudist beach, a curious friend, a resort visit after months of research. Yours was none of those things. Your very first experience was at a nudist resort on a first date in 2023. We assumed it was with Dan but it wasn’t. That’s an interesting beginning. But there was more to that day than just an unusual date idea. How much of that first experience was about the date, and how much was about something you needed entirely for yourself?

Actually, Dan and I met and fell in love later. It was someone else who originally took me on that date. The experience was honestly a mix of doing something fun with someone else and doing something entirely for myself, so I’d say it was about 50/50.

Once the opportunity was presented, I jumped at it. I was curious and excited to try something new, and I was glad I didn’t have to experience it by myself. We ended up having a great time, and afterward it made for a pretty wild story to tell my friends. Honestly, they weren’t all that surprised. Doing something a little unconventional and adventurous is pretty on-brand for my personality.

You arrived at that first nudist resort in 2023 as someone who had never experienced naturism before. By 2025 you had left a career in technology sales to dedicate yourself full time to building the Naturist Business Network, The Naturist Vibe podcast, and RK Underground. That’s a huge transformation in a very short time. Was there a moment where you realized this was going to become your life’s work… or did it happen so gradually you almost didn’t notice it happening?

The moment I realized this was going to become my life’s work was when I was laid off from my last job in tech. That was the moment I told myself, “I’m never going back to corporate America.”

For the first time, I wanted the freedom to fully pursue something I was genuinely passionate about and see where it could take me. We spend so much of our lives working to build someone else’s company, dream, or success. Getting laid off unexpectedly gave me something incredibly valuable back: my time.

Instead of immediately pouring that time into finding another corporate job, I decided to invest it in something that actually meant something to me. I could focus on helping naturism grow, supporting the community, and building something I truly believed in. What could have felt like an ending became the moment I finally gave myself permission to make this my work.

You’re a Black Jamaican born woman who is frequently one of the only people of color in clothing-optional spaces. You’ve made representation a large part of your advocacy, creating platforms for voices like Alanna of Bare Skin Yoga and Rachel The Creator through The Naturist Vibe. You’ve spoken publicly about this many times. But what’s the part of that experience you haven’t said out loud? The thing that’s harder to articulate or that you’ve held back from saying in a public setting?

I don’t think there’s much I haven’t already said publicly. I’ve never really been one to shy away from a hot take or a difficult conversation.

Recently, though, I’ve been spending more time advocating for naturist content creators who are putting meaningful, thoughtful content online. We need a stronger digital presence, especially on major social media platforms where naturist content often struggles to break through the algorithms and reach new audiences. Learning what actually works, testing different strategies, and then sharing those insights can be incredibly valuable for other creators trying to grow their communities.

There has also been a lot of backlash toward content creators within the naturist community, and I think some of that comes from misunderstanding what a content creator actually is. Content creators and social media influencers are not necessarily the same thing. Someone can consistently create educational, community-focused, artistic, or advocacy-based content without trying to become an influencer or even monetize what they do.

I’m also very aware that there are fewer people of color visibly advocating for naturism online, and the creators who are doing that work do not always seem to reach the same audiences or appear in feeds as often as their non-POC counterparts. That makes sharing what I’m learning even more important to me. If I can take the strategies, data, and insights we’re gaining through NBN, TNV, and RK Underground and make that information useful to other naturist creators, especially naturist creators who are underrepresented, then hopefully we can help close some of that visibility gap and build a much broader picture of what modern naturism actually looks like.

You describe your goal as building a modern future for naturism. That phrase implies the current version needs work. Setting aside the diplomatic answer, what specifically is wrong with naturism as it exists today, and who is responsible for fixing it?

I’m not going to say naturism is broken, because it isn’t. But there are real structural and cultural issues that often get softened in public discussion.

The first is gatekeeping. Many naturist spaces, especially long-established clubs, still carry an unspoken idea of who naturism is “for.” Even when unintentional, this often centers older, whiter, more financially secure, and more geographically privileged participants. Others may be technically welcome, but not always fully included or reflected.

The second issue is visibility and narrative control. Naturism has a branding problem, not in a corporate sense, but in how it is understood publicly. That understanding is still shaped by stigma, misunderstanding, and sometimes sexualization. Instead of consistently defining ourselves, we often end up reacting to misconceptions rather than building a clear, modern identity.

Third is the digital gap. Naturism has not kept pace with how culture spreads today. Social media is where discovery, education, and normalization happen, yet naturist voices are often underrepresented, poorly amplified, or not strategic in how they engage. This creates a vacuum that is easily filled by misinformation or distorted interpretations of nudity online.

There is also a diversity problem that is still not addressed enough. Naturism is less visible and less accessible to people of color, queer communities, and younger participants than it should be. When those voices do appear, they don’t always receive equal reach or support. This isn’t just a representation issue, it directly shapes who feels naturism is safe or welcoming to them.

Responsibility for change is shared, but not evenly. Naturist organizations and clubs hold the most structural power, so they also carry the greatest responsibility to modernize access, language, and inclusion. Long-time community members have a responsibility to make space where needed. Creators like myself have a responsibility to actively reshape the public narrative, not just discuss naturism internally.

Ultimately, this isn’t something solved through blame. It’s solved through participation. If naturism is going to reflect the world as it is today, those who care about it have to be willing to evolve it, visibly, intentionally, and sometimes uncomfortably.

You grew up with a gay mother and a stepmom, attended an all-girls school, studied screenwriting, worked retail and tech, survived an abusive relationship, and walked into a nudist resort on a first date. That’s a very particular set of life experiences to bring into naturism advocacy. Looking back, how did all of that shape the specific vision of naturism you’re now working to build?

I think all of those experiences taught me to understand nuance and intersectionality. They taught me very early that people can exist within the same community and still experience that community very differently.

Growing up with a gay mother and a stepmom gave me an understanding of what it means to exist outside of what society considers “traditional.” Going to an all-girls school exposed me to so many different personalities, backgrounds, identities, and ways women navigate the world. Studying screenwriting taught me to pay attention to perspective, character, motivation, and whose stories are being told. Working in retail and tech exposed me to completely different kinds of people, workplaces, power structures, and ideas about success.

Then there are the harder experiences. Surviving an abusive relationship fundamentally changed the way I think about autonomy, boundaries, consent, and personal freedom. So when I eventually walked into a nudist resort on a date, naturism connected with me on a much deeper level than simply being comfortable without clothes. There was something powerful about being able to exist in my body without it belonging to someone else’s expectations.

All of that influences the version of naturism I want to help build today.

I don’t believe there is one correct way to experience naturism. Someone may come to it for body acceptance. Someone else may find community, freedom, wellness, art, spirituality, recreation, or simply the joy of swimming without a bathing suit. Our backgrounds influence what naturism means to each of us, and I think the movement becomes stronger when we recognize that instead of trying to force everyone into one narrow definition of what a “real naturist” should look like.

It also makes me pay attention to who might be missing from the room. As a naturist advocate, I think about race, gender, sexuality, age, disability, income, geography, and all the other factors that can determine whether someone feels like naturism is genuinely accessible to them or whether they feel like they are merely being allowed into someone else’s space.

So the naturism I’m working toward is one that leaves room for those differences while still having very clear shared values around consent, respect, boundaries, and non-sexual social nudity. I want people to be able to bring their whole selves into the community rather than feeling like they have to fit a particular mold first.

My life has been a collection of very different rooms. I think that’s why the naturist community I want to help build is one with more doors.

Leaving a stable career in technology sales to build businesses inside a niche community is a significant leap of faith. You and your partner Dan Speers are doing this work together full time. What does the version of this that fails look like and how present is that possibility in your mind?

Dan actually still has his day job, so the decision for me to step away from technology sales and work on this full time was something we made very intentionally. We looked at several factors and decided that, for these businesses to have a real chance to grow, at least one of us needed to be able to give them full-time attention. The goal is eventually for both of us to be able to do this full time, but we also wanted to be realistic about what it takes to get there.

Because of that, we spend a lot of time carefully curating our schedules around the needs of the businesses and around each other. Communication is probably one of the biggest reasons it works. We are constantly talking about what needs to get done, where one of us needs more support, what our individual roles are, and what has to take priority at any given moment. We genuinely make a solid team, and we remind each other of that pretty much every day.

Is it hard? Of course. There are days when we are exhausted or when there simply aren’t enough hours to accomplish everything we want to accomplish. But we make it work because naturism and what we are trying to build around it are important to both of us. This isn’t a hobby that accidentally became busy. We are treating it like a real business ecosystem that we want to become sustainable.

As far as failure goes, I think anyone running a business who says the possibility never crosses their mind probably isn’t being realistic. It absolutely crosses mine. But I try not to define failure as, “What if everything disappears tomorrow?” I think the more dangerous version of failure would be refusing to adapt because we became too attached to our original ideas.

Dan and I are constantly having business meetings with each other, with our TNV producer Justin Cannon, and with the other people involved in our projects. We look at the numbers. We pay attention to what the community is responding to. We listen to feedback. We talk about what is working, what isn’t, where we are spending money, where we should be investing more, and where something might need to change entirely.

We are building NBN, TNV, RK Underground, and our other projects in a landscape that changes constantly. Social media algorithms change. Community habits change. Technology changes. The naturist movement itself is evolving. So we have to be willing to evolve with it rather than assuming that something will continue working simply because it worked six months ago.

That makes the possibility of failure present in my mind, but not paralyzing. If something doesn’t work, we assess why and adjust. A particular event could fail. A piece of content could flop. A business idea could need to be reworked or even abandoned. To me, those things aren’t necessarily the failure of the larger mission. They’re information.

The version of this that truly fails is the version where we stop listening, stop learning, stop evolving, or become so afraid of making the wrong move that we stop making moves altogether.

We took a calculated leap, not a blind one. And right now, our job is to keep building enough stability, revenue, community, and infrastructure that eventually Dan gets to take that leap too.

You and Dan are partners in life and partners in this work. That’s an enormous amount of shared territory. Dan grew up in naturism and has been an advocate for most of his life. You came to it in 2023. How do you maintain your own distinct voice and perspective when so much of your public presence is intertwined with someone who has been in this community far longer than you have?

Dan often says he learns just as much from me as I do from him, and I think that mutual exchange is a big part of why our relationship and partnership works.

He brings decades of lived experience in naturism, having grown up within it. That gives him a deep understanding of its history, culture, and evolution in a way I simply can’t match, since I only entered naturism in 2023. I value that perspective deeply. At the same time, coming in later means I see things differently. I still remember what it feels like to be new, what questions I had, what surprised me, what made me feel welcome, and what made me question certain traditions.

Dan has always encouraged me to hold onto that viewpoint rather than defer to his simply because he has been in the community longer. He supports me having my own public voice, even when my opinions challenge long-standing ideas within naturism. There has never been an expectation that I adopt his version of the experience.

That openness goes both ways. One of the things I appreciate most about Dan is that he remains grounded in his own experience while also being willing to listen to perspectives he hasn’t lived. As a white, straight man who grew up in naturism, his experience is naturally different from those of people of color, queer people, women, or those who joined later in life. He is able to hear those perspectives without trying to speak over them or position himself as a savior, which is an important distinction to me.

When I share how something feels from my perspective as a Black woman, or explain how it might land differently for someone from another marginalized group, his response is to listen and ask questions rather than become defensive. In return, he offers historical context that helps me understand why certain norms exist, even when I believe they should evolve.

I don’t see our different experiences as a conflict or a limitation on my voice. If anything, they strengthen both of us.

Dan represents someone shaped by a lifetime inside naturism. I represent someone who entered it later, fell in love with it, and immediately began questioning what it could become. Sometimes he understands why certain structures exist, and I’m the one asking whether they still need to.

Neither perspective cancels the other out.

That balance carries into our public work as well. We can co-host TNV, build projects, and advocate together while still holding different opinions. We don’t need to merge into a single voice just because we are partners. In fact, I think preserving that individuality is important because naturism itself shouldn’t be reduced to one perspective.

We bring different histories, identities, and strengths into everything we do. The goal isn’t for either of us to align completely with the other, but to keep learning from one another while remaining distinctly ourselves.

In a movement where younger women are significantly underrepresented publicly, you are becoming one of the most visible younger women in naturism. People know you as The Crowned Nudi. Does that visibility feel like power, like pressure, or like something else entirely?

The visibility feels much more like empowerment than power.

I don’t look at being visible in naturism as having influence over people. I look at it as having a larger opportunity to advocate, to help others feel represented, and to contribute to growing the community in a direction I believe in. The more visible I become, the more empowered I feel to speak about the things that matter to me and to use whatever platform I have to create space for other people.

There is definitely some pressure that comes with it, especially because there still aren’t that many younger women who are highly visible in naturism publicly. And when you add being a Black woman and someone who came into naturism relatively recently, I’m aware that there may be people seeing themselves reflected in my experience who haven’t necessarily seen that before.

I don’t want that to mean I have to represent every younger woman, every Black naturist, or every newcomer. I can only speak authentically from my own experiences. But I do recognize that visibility matters. Sometimes simply seeing someone who looks like you, has a background similar to yours, or approaches naturism in a way that feels familiar can make something that once seemed inaccessible suddenly feel possible.

That’s part of what The Crowned Nudi (the crowned part being my Afro not an actual crown) has become for me. It started as a fun identity connected to my own experience with naturism, but it has grown into a platform that allows me to advocate for a more inclusive, contemporary, and visible naturist community.

And I want to use that visibility to bring other people with me. I don’t want to be the only younger woman people can name, or the only Black woman they regularly see advocating for naturism online. Success to me would actually mean seeing more people step forward, tell their stories, create content, start businesses, organize events, and challenge the public perception of who naturists are.

So yes, there is responsibility attached to visibility, but I try not to carry it as pressure. I carry it as purpose. It makes me feel empowered to advocate louder, build more intentionally, and hopefully make it easier for the next person to be seen too.

You speak publicly about ethical naturism, consent, respect, non-sexual social nudity, clear boundaries. But nobody has everything figured out. Is there anything about naturism, a practice, a norm, a dynamic you’ve encountered that you’re still genuinely uncertain about or haven’t fully resolved for yourself?

My central position is that ethical naturism should be defined by consent, respect, and non-sexual social nudity in practice and not by policing people’s identities or private lives. What matters in a naturist space is simple: clear consent, firm boundaries, and behavior that ensures everyone can exist nude without being sexualized or made uncomfortable.

I’m very clear on that foundation, and I don’t find it complicated. Naturist environments should be safe, respectful, and explicitly non-sexual in how people interact with one another.

Where it becomes more nuanced is when we start deciding what someone is allowed to do or identify with outside of naturist spaces in order to be considered a “real naturist.” Someone can be polyamorous, queer, have alternative lifestyles, be religious, conservative, liberal, whatever, and still understand how to behave appropriately in a naturist environment.

At the same time, I understand why naturists can be extremely protective of the distinction between naturism and sexuality. Society already sexualizes nudity so heavily that naturists have spent generations trying to explain that being naked does not automatically mean sex. So I understand the fear that if those boundaries become too blurry publicly, it can make that work harder.

That’s the part I think deserves more conversation.

How do we protect the meaning and purpose of naturism without creating purity tests? How do we maintain very clear boundaries without shaming adults for parts of their lives that have nothing to do with how they behave in a naturist space? And how do we explain those nuances to the general public when social media especially tends to flatten everything into very simple categories?

I don’t think I have a perfect answer yet.

What I keep coming back to is behavior. I’m much more interested in how someone conducts themselves in a naturist environment than whether their entire life fits somebody else’s definition of what a naturist is supposed to be.

Naturism is evolving, society is evolving, and the people entering these spaces are becoming more diverse. If we already believed we had every answer, we probably wouldn’t be listening closely enough to the people who are telling us where the community still needs to grow.

You came to naturism in 2023 looking to reclaim your body after an abusive relationship. Two years later you’re building infrastructure for an entire movement. If you could sit across from the version of yourself who walked into that nudist resort for the first time on that date, what do you think she would make of where you’ve ended up?

I think she would be incredibly happy and probably very emotional. The version of me who first walked into that nudist resort could never have imagined where that experience would lead.

More than anything, I think she would be proud that I didn’t let my past define what I was capable of in the future. After leaving an abusive relationship, that period of my life was about reclaiming myself, my body, independence, confidence, and the simple ability to make choices for myself.

Walking into that resort was part of that process. At the time, I wasn’t thinking it would become my life’s work. I was simply giving myself permission to try something new without fear dictating the outcome. That single decision ended up opening a much bigger door.

If I could sit across from that version of myself now and explain that within a few years I would be advocating for naturism, building businesses, creating media, producing events, and helping grow community infrastructure, I think she would laugh at how unbelievable it sounds…then probably cry.

Because beneath all of those projects is something more personal. What began as a way to rediscover my own freedom became work focused on helping others experience freedom, acceptance, community, and autonomy for themselves.

I think she would also be relieved to know that the difficult parts of my past didn’t get the final word. They became part of my story, but not its limit.

And I think that’s what would make her proudest… not the businesses or visibility, but that I kept going. That I became curious again, trusted myself enough to take risks, and allowed myself to dream beyond survival.

If I could tell her anything, it would be: “You have absolutely no idea what you just started.”

And I think she’d be excited to find out.

Stay tuned for part 2 of this interview with Gabby coming very soon where we get deeper into what is ethical naturism. What happens when some cross the line. Sexual attention, and what is keeping younger women and women of color away.

Also, if you want to follow Gabby, here are some of her links:

Instagram

Bluesky

Naturist Business Network

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