A question that every man asks himself at some point in his life is how long he can go without wearing a shirt. Some would argue that being shirtless is a natural progression in dealing with an increment in temperature or that it enforces a sense of masculinity, a return to one's caveman heritage. Others would argue it is a vain attempt for attention charecterised by insecurity.
For us though it was a challenge and an experiment of sorts (and probably the later reason above) to see how long we could go topless in Ko Tao (a Southen Thai island) without anyone telling us to a shirt on.
24 hours
First day of toplesness completed without incident. Shirts came off in the morning for the beach and remained off for the day. No strange looks, after all it is an island paradise. Few winks from suspicious looking women with strong jaws and unusual bulges in throats. Note to self; don't go home with one of these flirtatious women.
48 hours
More beach time. Bulk purchase of sunscreen to protect our milky white bodies after bad morning sunburn. Walking around the street with a newfound swagger, chests poked out. This swagger is probably not justifiable. Eating in a posh restaurant is followed by a roll of eyes from fellow diners. People may be struggling to swallow their food due to our disgustingly sunburnt corpses. Young Thai girls get embarassed and blush (we later find out that having no shirt on in Thailand is like being naked...woops must have skipped that section in Lonely Planet). A night of drinking in bars goes unchallenged by security, however we are still 'those wankers in the bar without shirts on'.
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| This guy weighed about as much as a 10 year old Thai girl. |
72 hours
I have a 6am wake-up for diving and shiver my way to the dock in the back of the ute (pick-up truck). I'm no longer 'that wanker' but instead 'that idiot who can't tell the temperature'. People start to question why I have no shirt. My response; 'my clothes are in the wash'. Avoids awkward questions. It does however make me seem like i need my mother here in Thailand to monitor dirty/clean clothes ratio. Body resembles the Himalayas from previous nights mosquito bites. However as an injured soldier does we battle on. Dylan suggests we go gym = topless workouts with much self admiration in mirrors. 3 other guys have no shirts on either. We feel normal.
96 hours
We both wake up with runny noses from excessive air conditioning in the room overnight. The casualties are beginning to accumulate. Our shirts lie on our beds staring at us, asking to be put on. We resist the temptation. After 3 nights out we have gained A-grade wanker status and are recognised as the topless guys (named by a drunken Argentinian woman). We think we are legends. Others do not. Photos with giggling girls becomes the norm. Many guys, especially boyfriends are not seeing the funny side of it.
108 hours
Catching a train to Bangkok. Get told by the ticket inspector to put our shirts on. Like an alcoholic, our addiction has started to control us and negatively affect our loved ones (ourselves). Cold turkey is not an option. Going straight to putting a shirt on send us into a spiraling depression. We put our skimpy singlets on, our methadone program. As we sit sweating in the boiling hot train and craving toplesness, our heads return to a more normal size. As i stare out the window at the passing landscape, I hear that the inspector has entered the next carriage. I turn around. Dylan has relapsed.
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