Nakedness by John Updike

We're all born naked and the rest is drag.

Richard and Joan Maple should probably be in couple’s therapy. Actually, scratch that. They desperately need it. Their marriage is a mess of constant bickering, emotional distance, and extramarital affairs. It's the epitome of a toxic relationship but they stay together anyway, clinging to the illusion of a picture-perfect suburban family trapped by mid-20th-century expectations of what a marriage should be.

But let’s talk about the title—Nakedness. Sure, there’s the obvious physical aspect of the word but what’s really at stake here is emotional nakedness, or rather, the complete lack of vulnerability. These two are so disconnected from themselves and each other that their relationship is pure surface. Always going through the motions without ever digging deeper. And then, they find themselves at a nude section of the beach, which becomes a rude awakening for both of them.

Surrounded by a younger, freer generation of naked bodies, Richard is not having a good time and offended by the counter-culture. His masculinity takes a hit as he notices the younger men, more well-endowed, more confident, just existing in their skin in a way he never could. 

The Maples' enconter with the young naked couple perfectly encapsulates his fragile ego. Standing in close proximity to these naked youngsters makes him feel uncomfortable and painfully inadequate. The sight of these young, confident men, physically uninhibited and well-endowed, unsettles him. It’s not just about size—it’s about vitality, about youth, about the ease with which they inhabit their bodies, something Richard has never truly mastered. Instead of confronting his own insecurities, he redirects his frustration outward. He turns on his wife, scrutinizing her body with newfound harshness, as if picking apart her physical "flaws" will somehow make him feel more powerful. But there’s a deeper anger bubbling underneath; one that extends beyond Joan and into the shifting cultural landscape. Women are more sexually liberated. The younger generation no longer looks up to men like him as role models. He’s becoming obsolete, and he knows it: 

|"There have been two revolutions in the last ten years," he told her. "One, women learned to say 'fuck.' Two, the oppressed learned to despise their sympathizers."|

This is not just him making an astute observation but a lashing out. His words drip with condescension, as if these changes are somehow betrayals rather than progress. But beneath his bitter sarcasm lies fear. Fear of aging, fear of irrelevance, fear of losing control. In a sense, this is classic overcompensation. By belittling women’s sexual agency and mocking the younger generation’s social consciousness, he’s desperately trying to reassert his own power in a moment where he feels utterly powerless. Yet, ironically, the more he lashes out, the more he reveals just how deeply insecure he truly is.

From a stylistic standpoint, the writing in this story is fanastic and Updike's lyrical prose is littered with beautifully crafted, sexually charged imagery, like:

|"He recalled a remark of Rodin's, that a woman undressing was like the sun piercing through clouds."|

Or:

|"He was jutting out, 'sticking up at you like a hatrack,' as the phrase went through Molly Bloom's mind."|

The James Joyce Ulysses reference is a nice touch. This is incredible writing right here and Updike's talents are on full display. 

However, it’s the remarkable ending that leaves a lasting impression. The final secene as Joan slowly undresses for bed, Richard watches her closely with curiosity and longing. He's like a voyeuristic horndog but also a husband seeing his wife in a new way that suggests a possible internal shift. The last line is also strikingly poignant: "This nakedness is new to them." It’s a beautiful and quiet moment of revelation. After years of avoidance, years of failing to be emotionally bare with each other, there’s finally something raw between them. Perhaps it is a glimmer of vulnerability. Whether it’s enough to save the marriage is another question entirely.