To Sleep Naked or Not to Sleep Naked – That is the Question


I myself find it best to sleep in that which I was originally sleeping in for several months in my mom’s belly – nothing. I don’t believe that sleeping naked puts you in the category of a nudist however – there are plenty of activities I would much rather do with clothes on. Cooking is one of those activities – I can’t even imagine accidentally lighting one of my boobs on fire or getting splattered with hot oil from the frying pan onto my private parts. Shrug.

I have met plenty of people however that would in fact prefer to sleep in clothes. While I stick to my previously stated preference, I can certainly sympathize with their point of view. Having said, here’s the breakdown of all the reasoning on the subject I could think of.


  1. You are one with the bed.

There aren’t any extra layers that keep you from moving whichever direction you want to go. There isn’t anything snagging on the covers preventing them from sliding against your body exactly how you want them to. You are literally one with the bed. You have free reign to slide left and right, even diagonally if you’re feeling adventurous. I have yet to come across a pair of pajamas that wins my heart, and I’ve bought some top notch quality stuff. The shorts rise up your crotch, the pants rise up your leg and you can forget about the baby doll things; they rise all the way up and on top of that if you’re anything like me, the ladies refuse to stay inside a delicate camisole. Who wants to sleep in lacy sexy apparel anyway? All that stuff is just for show and I for one am not about to sacrifice comfort for the sake of being “sexy”. I’m not Eddie Murphy.

  1. More money in your pockets and more space in your drawers.

Everyone has a budget and a lot of people that don’t, probably should. If you can eliminate pajamas from your wardrobe altogether, you’d actually be saving a lot more money than you realize. And let’s not forget about the storage space. Just imagine how much extra room you can have for your endless funny T-shirts.

  1. Your laundry basket doesn’t get filled up as fast.

You wash the clothes that you wear for 8 hours a day so naturally the same logic would apply to the clothes that you wear in bed for on average the same amount of time. Sure you get into them nice and clean and there aren’t any external filthy factors in your bed like there are in the outside world, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t get dirty with use. Same with your sheets, and an even better example your towels – you get out of the shower nice and clean, and wipe yourself with a towel. Even though its sole purpose is to absorb the clean off you, that towel is too going to end up in the laundry bag. So between sheets, towels and every day clothes alone, why add to it with pajamas too? Save that room for clothes you need to wash so you can show them off again and go to sleep naked.

  1. Easy access.

You wake up in the morning next to your loved one, and instead of ruffling through layers of clothes that are probably in all kinds of awkward places, you can just swoop right in there. You’re facing additional road blocks on the way to your happy ending if pajamas are involved. Aint nobody got time for that.

  1. You can use your own body heat to keep you warm better than any layer of clothing.

It’s a proven fact: they used this method during the war to stay warm. Granted, hugging another naked body will probably generate more heat than hugging yourself, but as an experienced self-hugger I assure you, it still works. Just wrap your arms around yourself, and magic warmth will unravel from there.



  1. In case of an emergency, chances of you leaving the house looking decent get slimmer.

Let’s say a natural disaster hits and you don’t have time go and pour yourself a cup of coffee so you can wake up to deal with it properly. It hits, you’re there and you have to escape the building. But oh wait, you’re naked… You don’t have time to go through your drawers to find something to throw on, you’ve got to get your ass out there; the building is on fire! Sure you may have a robe hanging on your door knob for “emergencies” but let’s face it, when you wake up all discombobulated you may even forget that you’re not wearing any clothes and run out there in all your naked glory.


  1. All possible intruders automatically become potential rapists.

Perhaps your luck of living peacefully has run out and a burglar decided to rob your humble abode. Having broken inside the house and having realized that you in fact having nothing worthy of stealing they might just walk away being like “oh well”. But if they see a naked body lying on the bed, they might just be like “Well let’s not make this trip a waste, I might as well just get me some of this” – And then you’re fucked… Literally.


  1. Body heat may be a thing, but it doesn’t transfer that heat to the uninhibited sheets surrounding you.

A friend of mine brought up an interesting point. She says she’s tried sleeping naked and while it’s enticing in some ways, she runs into the problem where if you sleep in one position for a while and then you happen to turn over, the space on the bed to which you are shifting is uninhibited and therefore much colder than your current temperature. She’s going to do further research via buying different sheets – cotton happens to be more temperature friendly all over. I know this because I slide all over my bed and I’ve never run into the problem of waking up in the middle of the night because I accidentally landed on a cold spot.

  1. As a girl, you forfeit the ability to validate your multiple pajama purchases.

Contrary to the point I’ve made earlier where you don’t need to purchase pajamas if you choose to sleep naked, as a girl you may find yourself buying all that shit anyway. Pajamas can be very cute and you constantly tell yourself that you’ll end up using them while you lounge around the house or take them with you to a sleepover. You never do though. It just sits there taking up room, looking pretty inside your drawers in constant darkness for no one to see.

  1. Surprise visits from aunt Flow are even less appreciated in the middle of the night when you’re naked.

No one likes getting their period, unless there’s a specific “thank god I’m not pregnant” situation involved. Getting your period in the middle of the night is the worst. You don’t know of its arrival until after you wake up all bloody in the morning. Sure, perhaps you’re a light sleeper and your bleeding body might wake you up in the middle of the night, but there’s a 50 percent chance of that happening. Pajamas act as a layer between you and your bed. Subtract the pajamas and you get a bloody mattress as well.

  1. Open door policy can get pretty tricky.

Weather you have roommates or babies, sleeping naked becomes a bit of a problem. One or the other is bound to storm into your room and see you at your most vulnerable. You can lock your door if you live with roommates, but you can’t do that when you have children. What if they’re hungry or drowning in the toilet? You have to be able to hear them and be constantly at their beck and call. Adulting is hard enough as it is. Doing so naked is trickier.

To summarize, given the above reasoning it makes sense to leave the nakedness behind and embrace the pajamas. I will do no such thing. I let logic win often enough as it is. Not this time. I think I’ll go take a naked nap now.

This is so true, it’s giving my ovaries phantom pangs


“If your period was a person…”.

That’s the title of the video, and already my critical brain’s off to the races and wondering “Is that meant to be ‘If your period were a person’?” Knowing that fact about the overactive neurotic spinning top that lives in the attic of my body (and then coupling that with the reality that a fourth of every month there’s an added hormonal DSM-level break from reality), I’ve come to a conclusion.

If this is the worst this chick’s anthropomorphized sanguine psychosis is… she has it pretty effing good.

I wish mine were (yes, we’re going with ‘were’; #sorrynotsorry) just a sassy black lady who over-snacks. But mine’s more like… this loquacious, schizophrenic entity. And, sure, it’s got the sassy black lady’s head. But it’s also got sassy gay friend’s, anorexic bitch’s, fat callous downer’s, frazzle haired hippie’s, and the dome of every ex I’ve ever claimed as worthy of monogamy – spouting painful unaddressed truths on repeat. To my credit (or theirs’, really – our ours mutually; who knows) though, zero point zero of those exes would’ve ever done the thing that pussy boyfriend did on the couch and ran away. I might have (run away, that is), but it’s always nice to know that you spend the other 23 days of your life exuding enough awesomery from your pores that homie wanna pour sugar on ya even when you’re exuding goo. (Too far? Too bad.)

Maybe that’s ’cause it’s more ingrained for me. A part of my personality I try in vain to relinquish. So, instead of Jeckyll-Hyde-ing it for a weeklong holiday away from normalcy, there’s no real sane baseline to start with. You either love me enough despite it to stick around – or ya pack up your satchel ‘n hit the tracks after we shake hands and I immediately start explaining how my shih-tzu has telepathy. Monthly or not, that Vishnu-esque period party monster’s never too far away – even when I’m coasting over my weeks of dry land. Something that massive never truly rolls out. When it’s not actually staging a uteral B’nE, it’s plotting the next one. Stalking me. Sitting quietly in the corridor. Or perched on the limb of an outside tree, silently counting the minutes while eating my last pack of dried tart cherries.

Just sayin’ – me ‘n my coven of women kind may all have it bad.

But my bad bitch’s luggage wouldn’t’ve fit on that little zippered wheely sac.

It would’ve needed its own Boeing to get here.

Moon-strual Cup, anyone?


I don’t know how to put this lightly, but manufacturers want you (yes, you ladies) to put something new all up in there:


My first reaction to seeing this a while ago was that it was probably a gag, perhaps. I dismissed it until I saw an ad for it. When I realized it wasn’t, I was the one gagging after a brief minor Brad Pitt style freakout, crying: “What’s in the box?! What’s in the Baaaaaax?!!”

Then I learned.

I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: How she describes caring for it and “getting rid” of the waste, or how all the viewers’ comments seemingly display a lack of being as terrified as I was by the idea of playing “bury the beer bong” each month, only to have to go in like a Navy Seal and extract it soon after.

Call me crazy, but I don’t want something that resembles Chip from Beauty and the Beast forming a long term relationship with my womb, characterized by intermittent trips to it every few weeks like it’s some kind of country hideaway, after which I have to carry out its cleaning or storage process. Anything that was once in my body and suddenly is not – I do not care to handle. I’ll recycle anything else if you demand it, but this?

Put what, where?!

Do what? With WHAT?!

Also, is that lube I see in the picture up top?! Seriously? Do I look like Dexter Morgan? Talk about a literal blood slide. Thanks, but I prefer to forget the whole thing happened after it’s ended; I’ll pass on keeping this thing around like the trophy it so closely resembles.