Archives for category: street

We usually save indoor events for colder weather — when it’s no longer feasible to gather in a park, the likes of a warm yoga studio, spa, karaoke joint, or restaurant presents an appealing alternative. But who needs indoor events in the summer?

On the other hand, when we were contacted recently by the good folks at Cowgirl Seahorse, who’d hosted us a few years prior and were inviting us to come back, we thought, Why not? We had a friend visiting from the West Coast, and a topless dinner with her sounded like just the thing.

So off we went. We took advantage of the season first by gathering in front of the restaurant before the sun went down and watching it descend.

Then we headed in. Cowgirl Seahorse is a happy little spot down by the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan side. They serve basic Tex-Mex fare in a lively, colorful and welcoming atmosphere. One interesting feature of the place is that it’s basically one large room, so when we come we’re not tucked away in some closed-off private space where no one can see us. We’ve got our own table, but it’s out in the open like everyone else’s.

Did anyone object? Far from it! We were greeted by a warm round of applause when we entered, and no one at all seemed put out by our presence. In fact, a few of our fellow diners stopped by our table to say how much they admired what we were doing, and some staffers even invited their kids to meet us.

The place is female-owned and -run and queer-friendly — live events include drag brunches and the like. While we were there, we watched the staff hot-glue flowers to a giant 1960s-style peace symbol. The spirit of acceptance is as pervasive as the spirits fueling the shark-themed drinks.

There was even a marriage proposal before the night was out, although we’re pretty sure it was the result of the overflowing good spirits of both varieties. 🙂

And when dinner was finished, the fact that we exited into a balmy summer night meant there was no need to put our tops back on while we hunted down some dessert.

Big Gay Ice Cream is just a few blocks away,

…and the plaza outside made a lovely spot for hanging out–

–for meeting new friends (the woman in the middle of this photo is a total stranger who ran over to us and enthusiastically took her top off when she saw us doing it)–

–and for an impromptu flute performance from our very own Pied Piper.

All in all, a filling and satisfying evening, not just because the food and bev were good (though they were), but because everywhere we went, we felt like we belonged. Like our self-confidence and lack of shame about our bodies were not misplaced.

And we relished the chance to pass a lesson about not being ashamed of your body along to the next generation. Hopefully those girls will grow up with a touch more self-confidence because of it. The world will be a better, freer place for it.

Would you like to exercise your equal rights by joining us the next time we plan a topless meal, or a moonlit topless stroll? (The summer isn’t finished yet!) Whether you’re all over it or just curious, we’d love to hear from you. Email toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com, or find us on Insta or Twitter at @ToplessPulp.

After meeting in 14th Street Park to prepare ourselves for our High Line adventure, and then heading up to the High Line itself for our mile-long stroll, topless, through a crowd of thousands of tourists and locals who possibly might not have been expecting to see a group of bare-chested women in their midst, we exited the High Line at its 34th Street terminus, elated and slightly exhuasted and many blocks from the nearest subway.

Did we put our shirts on for the last leg of our journey? We did not. It just felt too good, too healthy, too natural, to remain topless as we made our way through the city’s summer streets. Who needs another layer of fabric getting between her skin and the cooling breeze? Not us. So, fortified with a refreshing popsicle or two, off we went.

The east-west blocks between the river and midtown are long ones, and we got some looks as we crossed them. One or two odd remarks (“Get in,” said a man in a car. Did he really think we would?), one or two startled ejaculations (in the classical Arthur Conan Doyle sense of the word — “My dear Holmes!” I ejaculated), but overall nothing too untoward or troubling. We passed more than one male jogger wearing as little as we were, and by and large we got nearly as little attention as he did.

Eventually we got to the subway, where one of us got dressed for the trip home–

–and the other two just headed down to complete the trip as we were.

Having gotten out at Columbus Circle, we ended with a brief sit beneath a tree in nearby Central Park.

What lesson do we take away from this wonderful multi-stage experience? That female toplessness has been normalized sufficiently, at least in New York City, that not only can a group of more than a dozen topless women relax without causing a stir in a quiet park but even just two or three topless women can walk through other sorts of public spaces without giving rise to offense or distress — that of others or our own.

Also, that it is physically pleasurable, emotionally satisfying, and psychically healing to go bare-breasted outdoors, both because it is an assertion of equal rights — you can do this thing, and so can I — and because the simple sensation of it is delightful. (Maybe not quite so delightful in the subway. Nothing is as delightful there. But even there, it’s sort of fun.)

Would you like to join us sometime? Maybe not in the subway — that’s some advanced urban toplessness, for sure. But somewhere, sometime. Whether that’s on a grassy lawn in the park or a lounge chair on our favorite rooftop sundeck or wherever appeals to you most, if you’re a woman in the New York area and at all curious about what we do, we’d love for you to join us. Send us email (toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com), or message us on Insta or Twitter (@ToplessPulp), and we promise — we’ll find an event that’s right for you.

Yesterday you read about how our group gathered on a lawn across from the High Line before heading up for our walk along the elevated park.

Hanging out in 14th Street Park is very different from walking the High Line — one is a quiet, serene, nearly empty patch of green in the middle of the city, a little urban oasis; the other is a tourist mecca, a narrow, constructed space with literally thousands of people walking through it at any given time. It’s a different sort of experience (motion rather than stillness, sound rather than silence, lots of contact with strangers rather than next to none), and not everyone in our group was up for braving it. So as we went from the park to the street outside…

…and from the street up onto the High Line itself–

Some of our members peeled off, leaving only a core group to walk the walk.

What is the High Line? It used to be a set of elevated train tracks used by freight trains to get goods to and from the Meatpacking District back when meat was actually packed there. Abandoned for years, the tracks got resurrected as a park by some urban developers who realized they could be made unique and gorgeous and turned into a site for pleasant strolls and sun-swept relaxation. And you know how we love our relaxation.

So we’ve been coming to the High Line from our group’s earliest days, before the whole thing was even done being rebuilt. One of our photos from those days was even chosen by the High Line for inclusion in the fancy coffee table art book they put out to celebrate their creation:

Now the rebuilding is done, and the High Line offers a delicious variety of intriguing and photogenic spaces.

Open stretches and covered ones —

Scenic overlooks —

Spots graced by views of the city’s newest grand public sculpture —

Speaking of which, it’s possible to accidentally walk off the High Line (a public park) and onto a private plaza owned and run by the new Hudson Yards property barons. We know it’s possible because we did it! And got politely (well, sort of politely) ushered back off the private plaza by a security guard who kept trying to get us to be sympathetic to him. (He seemed to think if he didn’t chase us off it would cost him his job. Who knows? Maybe that’s even true.)

But the High Line itself is public and public in the very best way — meaning free for anyone to walk any time, with or without a shirt on, whether you’re a woman or a man. We were thrilled to visit our old haunt again and to feel as welcome as ever.

What came next? Well after the heat of the day and the effort of the walk, we were ready for something cool. Fortunately, there was an ice cream truck waiting at the exit — run by a wonderful woman from Greece, no stranger to topless sunbathing herself. 🙂

From there we had another long walk before us — at street level this time, from the far west side to midtown, where we could hop a subway. How did that stroll differ from our walk on the High Line? Find out in Part III of our report — coming later this week.

We’ve been visiting the High Line before the High Line was even finished being built.

This year was the first time we got to see the whole thing, all the way to the endpoint on West 34th Street, capped by that grand new work of public sculpture nicknamed (actually named?) “The Vessel.”

It was quite an adventure, and we’re going to write about it in three separate posts this week, to give you a feeling for the whole afternoon. Which began with us gathering near the entrance to the High Line at 14th Street and Tenth Avenue, where there’s a convenient little park called (uncreatively enough) “14th Street Park.”

It’s barely a park at all, really. One square block of concrete paving with a single circular grassy hillock in the center. (Does it even count as a hillock? It barely rises at all in the center. Really it’s just a flat grassy circle. Is it even a circle or an ellipse? These are the questions we wonder about. We read a lot, and we like getting these things right.)

Anyway, we gathered, and we did it on the grass in 14th Street Park. First just a couple of us, then a handful, then a gaggle, then a pack.

Well, what group noun would you use for a group of topless women? It’s a “dazzle” of zebras, which doesn’t seem fair somehow — why can’t we have that one? A “convocation” of eagles, a “parliament” of owls, a “quiver” of cobras. A “murmuration” of starlings. Well, we murmured, we convoked. We probably quivered a bit. We like to think maybe we dazzled. But mostly we just relaxed, enjoying the sun and the breeze and each others’ excellent company.

That’s it — a “relaxation” of topless women.

Our relaxation held onto the park long enough that total strangers around us took notice and found enough comfort or curiosity to join in. This woman from Atlanta by way of Texas walked up to us, asked a few questions, and before long was sitting in our circle, and before much longer had her breasts bared in solidarity and joy.

Two women from Colombia went topless but stayed face down or held their shirts over their chests, saying they worked nearby and didn’t want to chance their employers seeing them out the window of their office building. Fair enough. But they took our info and promised to go properly top-free when we next meet in some other neighborhood. And another woman went down to just the thongiest of thongs. We felt our influence was doing some good.

Our meet-up included some first-timers, most of whom discovered us over Instagram. (In the last month alone 564 women in NYC have told us over Insta that they’d like to join us! We welcome every last one.)

We also had some second- and third-timers from events earlier this summer–

–and some old friends, back again from earlier High Line visits.

While waiting for all these folks to show up, we had books to occupy us…

…and snacks (these chips are made of chicken — no, really)–

…and just getting to know each other (we did the summer camp thing of going around a circle saying our names and where we’re from and was this our first time, etc.).

And when that ran out of steam, we got ourselves up off the grass,

headed toward the exit,

and out onto the street.

What came next? The High Line, of course — and you’ll see more of that tomorrow.

Meanwhile, if you’re a woman in NYC and think what you see in these photos looks like fun? Drop us a note. It’s easy: toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com.

You’ll be part of our relaxation in no time.

Mostly when we hold our topless events it’s in a park — Central Park, Washington Square Park, what-have-you. Lacking private back yards, parks are where New Yorkers go when they want to get a little sun, and seeing someone less than fully dressed in the park isn’t so very unusual.

But what about traveling to and from the park? Most of us choose to wait until we’re on the grass and surrounded by trees before taking our tops off. But not all. And we want to salute those of our members who are bold enough to take this extra step in the direction of feeling comfortable outdoors in our freedom-loving city.

If men can go top-free on the city streets (and they can, and they do — you see plenty of shirtless male joggers this time of year), women should be able to do it as well, free from shame or criticism.

And we’re very happy to report that women can. It takes a certain amount of confidence and DGAF — but if you’ve got those things, there’s no sidewalk you can’t proudly walk down, no intersection you can’t cross, with your shoulders back, your chin up, and your chest proudly bare.

Yes, even in the subway.

Want to try it? 🙂 Write to us at toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com — we’ll find the event that’s right for you.

IMG_7732There we were on the sidelines, waiting for the Ultimate Freedom Concert to begin in Times Square, arguing the way bookish folk do: did the adjective “Ultimate” modify “Freedom” or “Concert”? Was it a concert celebrating the ultimate freedom, or was it the ultimate concert celebrating freedom?

It was a way to kill some time as the men inside the enclosure paced and noon turned to 1pm and 1 inched toward 2. One of the men, a sober, even severe, fellow in a charcoal gray t-shirt, held a microphone but didn’t speak into it. Drums stood in one corner, not being played. Yoga instructors balanced tentatively on one foot, then the other. Everyone was holding fire.

The man was a singer and activist calling himself Ton Dou, who’s been traveling around the country for the last several years, trying to persuade people that nudity isn’t anything to be ashamed or frightened of, and governments that it shouldn’t be illegal. Nudity, he believes, can be non-sexual and healthy and beautiful. And somehow he’d convinced New York City to let him hold a concert in Times Square fully nude himself, with anyone attending free to go fully nude as well.

But here we were, an hour and a half after the announced start time, and everyone was still fully dressed.

Was it cold feet? Literally, yes: going nude means going barefoot, and on this autumnal day the pavement was chilly. But maybe metaphorically as well. Ton Dou had the courage of his convictions, and he’d gathered perhaps two dozen men of varying ages and sizes and complexions to join him, but aside from one brave yoga instructor, no women. When Ton finally gave the signal and the clothes came off,

IMG_7727IMG_7720IMG_7744IMG_7754IMG_7724…it was surely the most penises Times Square has ever seen at one time, and all without a police whistle blowing or anyone getting carted off to jail. And that’s wonderful. We agree that nudity isn’t shameful or dangerous and that it shouldn’t be illegal. And yet — with the one brave exception, it was an all-male demonstration. Not even our cadre of body-positive women felt like stepping behind the protective fence and disrobing surrounded by twenty or thirty naked men and several thousand iPhone-wielding spectators. (One of the photographers at the event, a woman representing ClothesFree.com, who gladly goes nude in her own site’s videos, chose to stay clothed at this event. Several of our members who said they were curious and might attend changed their minds when they arrived and saw the gender imbalance.)

It’s interesting to note that this hasn’t been a problem when Human Connection Arts has held bodypainting events in Times Square — those have had a fairly equal mix of women and men from the start, and everyone felt comfortable. (Those also had paint, of course, which may not do much to hide one’s naked body, but does help disguise one’s face, which can be a consideration if you’re going to be naked in front of thousands of onlookers in one of the most public places on Earth.)

RandAIMG_8447IMG_8290So was the Ultimate Freedom Concert a failure? Not at all. It served its purpose: it showed that people can be naked, and can see other people naked, without any catastrophic consequences. People walking through Times Square to celebrate Brazilian Day got to see their share of, uh, brazilians. We overheard conversations between spectators and participants that suggested honest curiosity and supportive dialogue. (“What is this?” was the most common question, followed by “Is it legal?” and “Doesn’t your penis get cold?”) Some faces in the crowd seemed downright bored by the sight, and if that isn’t a victory, we don’t know what is.

IMG_7717But not being a failure doesn’t mean it was a success. A gathering that women don’t feel comfortable participating in — even if that wasn’t the organizers’ intent — might be a step in the direction of freedom, but the ultimate freedom it is not.

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img_4025Two summers ago, we met a funny, smart, beautiful woman named Mara Altman, who said she was writing a book about women’s bodies in general and her body in particular. She wanted to see what our events were like in preparation for writing the chapter about breasts. We were delighted to have her join us.

img_3582Now, after a gestation period that would do an elephant proud, Mara has published that book: GROSS ANATOMY, subtitled “Dispatches From the Front (and Back).” And sure enough, it has a chapter about breasts, and the baring thereof in public, focused on a topless bicycle tour we did in downtown Manhattan. It is thoughtful, eye-opening, and laugh-out-loud funny, and we commend both it and the rest of the book to your attention.

img_3587“When I’d thought about participating,” Mara writes, “the possible pitfalls had seemed huge. What if I changed careers? Say someday I want to be a politician. I’m running on a ticket of universal health care and weekly pizza parties for all, but then, during opposition research, a picture of my bare tits bobbling above a bicycle is revealed. I am no longer fit to serve. Keeping fabric less than a millimeter thick between your body and the world somehow preserves your integrity and makes you honorable, respectable, and capable of deep thoughts. Taking that little swatch of material away makes you a hussy.”

img_3607But of course she goes ahead and joins us anyway. “We rode through Battery Park and stopped in view of the Statue of Liberty, where one of the girls — one of the ones who had breasts that I wouldn’t mind having (it was something about the perkiness, the lightheartedness of the pair, like they were tulips reaching for the light in the sky) — read Emma Lazarus’s sonnet ‘The New Colossus.’ ”

img_3683“We made a quick stop at the New York Stock Exchange, which was filled with men in suits, but what really stood out were the many tourists aiming their cameras at us. Our meaningful movement, to them, was merely a stunt to document on their Instagram feed.”

img_3701img_3694“I saw interest, shock, disdain, adoration, and curiosity on the faces that flashed past. Many, hordes in fact, turned their phones toward us and began recording. I got it; usually, viewing this kind of stuff costs money and endless viruses on one’s computer. I tried to be chill…But every time a camera pointed in our direction, one of the girls, the one who had grandiose breasts, large and pillowlike, the type I’d decided would be perfect to rest my face in for a quick respite from the world, would yell, ‘Fuck you, you have to ask!’…I didn’t share her sentiment. Going outside topless would be like going out with a pair of parrots chanting ‘I like big butts and I cannot lie’ while fornicating on your shoulder, and expecting witnesses not to snap a picture. It wasn’t realistic.”

IMG_4092She writes about the experience of shopping for a sandwich in a shop whose staff isn’t receptive; she writes about eating lunch in the park, with a break for kickball with some kids.

img_3827IMG_3955img_3891Finally when a brief rain shower breaks out, she has an epiphany: “As little droplets pinged pleasingly all over my body, I finally realized an interesting change — my breasts, in that moment , weren’t for anyone but me. I hadn’t really dwelled on it before, but since my beginning, my breasts have always been for someone else. When I was a teenager, I wanted my breasts to grow so I’d be attractive to boys. When my breasts turned out small, I felt it was my duty to warn boys before they went under my half-filled bra cups so they wouldn’t be disappointed by what they found. For doctors, my breasts were something that could potentially turn lethal. For the babies I may have one day, they would be a source of food…Being topless is always a stop on the way to somewhere else — to a shower, to a breast exam, to sex — but it is rarely the destination in and of itself. By exposing my breasts to everything and everyone in one of the largest cities in this nation, paradoxically I finally got a taste of what it was like to relish them for myself.”

IMG_4055We couldn’t have said it better ourselves. Hell, we couldn’t have said it half as well.

Check out what else this eloquent topless bicyclist has to say  here — and let us be the first to say this: Mara Altman for President in 2020.

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