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We’re born naked, and then we spend the rest of our lives making poor fashion choices. In between the Angel Flights, parachute pants, jorts, and dad jeans we spend a little time in the buff–showers, wardrobe changes, the Devil’s business.

Al fresco is our natural state, and yet we make such a big deal about it. We don’t want to be seen naked, except by that person. That person we definitely want to see us naked, and speaking of that person, man, if only we could see him or her naked.

We fetishize, villify, and celebrate nudity, but when you get right down to it’s really nothing more than an absence of regrettable fashion choices. I’ve got a butt, you’ve got a butt. What’s the big deal?

Anyway, naked songs:

“Naked In the Rain,” Red Hot Chili Peppers.

“Naked Sunday,” Stone Temple Pilots.

“Naked,” The BoDeans.

“Naked In the City Again,” Hot Hot Heat.

“The Ballad of Naked Man,” Butthole Surfers.

“Violet Nude Women,” The Internet.

“Stripped,” Depeche Mode.

“Strip,” Adam Ant.

There you have it: Eight songs laid bare. What did I miss? I’m listening.