‘For the first time, I feel really sexy and beautiful’: Is a nude portrait actually the best way to boost your self-esteem?
- Radhika Sandhani commissioned a naked portrait of herself by Nicholas Baldion
- 31-year-old says artwork is about accepting who she is and being grateful for life
- Heather Spencer, 53, from London, commissioned a celebratory naked painting
- Harriet Catchpole, 24, from Suffolk, says portrait changed how she sees herself
She sits upright on an orange velvet armchair, looking directly at me.
Her long, dark hair is tucked behind her ears and there is an ever-so-slightly defiant expression on her face, as if to say: ‘Yes, I am naked — so what?’ It still amazes me that the woman in this oil painting — with her unflinching gaze, bare chest and soft stomach — is me. I never thought I would hang a nude portrait proudly on my living room wall — let alone commission and pose for it myself.
As an insecure teenager, that level of self-confidence was inconceivable to me. I was so worried about my looks, constantly comparing myself to models in magazines and falling short every time, that I did everything I could to avoid mirrors. The thought of committing my naked body to canvas would have horrified me.
That’s why it feels so powerful for me now, at 31, to look at this picture of myself proudly baring everything. And it turns out I’m not the only one commissioning nudes of myself as a sign of self-acceptance.
Radhika Sandhani, 31, (pictured) commissioned a naked portrait of herself by Nicholas Baldion after setting out to change the way she thinks about herself
In recent years, it’s become something of a trend, with people sharing their paintings on social media with hashtags such as #SelfLoveArt and #NudeArt.
In fact, when I contacted my chosen artist, who charges about £800 per portrait, he said he was already being commissioned by other women to paint their bodies in a celebratory way, as part of this growing movement. This only crystalised my desire for a portrait of my own.
Five years ago, my first long-term relationship ended and I decided to go freelance. For the first time, I could no longer depend on a boyfriend or workplace for validation: it was down to me to give myself the approval I wanted. Yet I was my own worst critic.
So I set out to change the way I thought about myself. It wasn’t easy, but I started to realise just how often I inwardly criticised and berated myself. I forced myself to stop and, instead, notice things I liked about myself, from my quick humour to my long, shiny hair.
Next, I started accepting things I didn’t like about myself — from my impatience to my big nose, which I’d always hated.
At school, friends said I’d be beautiful if only I had a smaller nose, and I’d spent my whole life believing this. But now I wanted to love my nose, just the way it was.
I confronted my fear head-on by posting on social media pictures of the side of my face with the hashtag #SideProfileSelfie.
To my shock, thousands of people started joining in and telling me how beautiful my nose was. Suddenly, I was a body positivity influencer, inspiring others to love themselves as well.
My new approach changed my life so much that I decided to write a book about it, fictionalising my experiences to help others.
Radhika (pictured) said she had reached a place where she didn’t want to look like anyone other than herself, following years of longing to look like Hollywood’s heroines
Thirty Things I Love About Myself is out today and follows the story of Nina Mistry, a British-Indian journalist who hits rock bottom — ending up in a jail cell on the eve of her 30th birthday and going viral in the worst way — before embarking on a journey to do the seemingly impossible: love herself.
Nina’s story mirrors mine in that she attempts to write a list of 30 things she loves about herself — one for every year she’s lived — leading her to radical self-acceptance.
For me, that means not berating myself for every tiny mistake but forgiving myself for being fallible and human. Most importantly, I’ve started to celebrate myself for being me, rather than wishing I was different.
It’s why I decided to commission a naked portrait of myself by Nicholas Baldion, an artist whose classical yet bold style I’ve always loved.
After years of longing to look like Hollywood’s perfect romcom heroines, I’d reached a place where I didn’t want to look like anyone other than myself.
That’s not to say I wasn’t nervous about the painting process. At first, when Nicholas sent me photos of nudes to ask me which styles and poses I liked, I took weeks to reply. I just couldn’t see myself brazenly sitting on a chair wearing no clothes.
As much as I was excited to have the finished portrait, I was terrified to actually make it happen.
In the end, I gave him the only reference I had of a naked painting that didn’t scare me: Leonardo DiCaprio’s drawing of Kate Winslet in Titanic.
We agreed that he would photograph me in my chosen pose, rather than paint from life. I’m normally fairly comfortable with nudity — my time at an all-girls’ school means I don’t bother to hide in a towel in a gym changing room.
But the idea of a male artist scrutinising my body made me so anxious I asked my close female friend Sofia to join us for the shoot.
At first, I was awkward and made too many jokes. But as we settled into finding the right pose, my nudity became more normal. Yes, I wasn’t wearing any clothes, but my chosen pose of reclining on the sofa meant it didn’t look too shocking as half of my body was concealed.
Then Nicholas suggested I sit upright on my armchair — it felt less romantic than my Titanic vision. And when I saw the photo, I hated it. I was just so . . . naked.
Radhika (pictured) admits she’ll now think twice about letting someone in her home, as some people will think the portraits are completely mad, or arrogant and narcissistic
The fact that I was sitting meant that my stomach had a crease in it so you could see my natural rolls. I knew I was meant to be a body positivity influencer now, but I wished I’d breathed in.
Nicholas agreed to paint the horizontal one instead, but asked my permission to use the seated one as inspiration for another painting, and I agreed — so long as it never had my name on it.
A month later, he sent me a photo of the finished product, only it turned out he’d done two: the one I’d asked for, and the one I’d hated.
‘If you don’t like it, you never have to see it again,’ he told me. ‘I just thought it was such a powerful pose that I was desperate to paint it. And I think it’s the better painting of the two. I love it.’
I loved it, too. You could still see the crease of my stomach, but it felt so different translated into paint. I loved the soft, earthy tones, the orange of the armchair, and the glow of my skin. I still wasn’t convinced by my stomach, because I’m so used to the filtering on social media. Couldn’t he have just softened that crease a little? But when the real painting arrived, I changed my mind.
This is me. It’s what I look like. Of course my stomach is curved — I have a womb behind it.
I started to view my painted self as I would a Botticelli or a Rubens. Instead of wanting to edit away my ‘flaws’, I realised I wouldn’t be me without them.
I still love the other painting of me lying serenely on the sofa, comfortable in my skin, yet a little nervous. It’s softer than the bold confidence of the seated portrait. I’ve chosen to hang it over my bed, where only I can see it, while the other takes pride of place in my living room.
It makes me laugh that I now have two nude paintings of myself in my one-bedroom flat. Some people will think it’s completely mad, or arrogant and narcissistic. And I imagine I’ll think twice now before letting someone into my home.
But the truth is my portrait has nothing to do with believing I’m better than anybody else. It’s simply a case of accepting who I am, being grateful for this life and body I’ve been given, and celebrating it all.
I will always have moments of doubt and insecurity, but this painting will remind me that true beauty — the kind we see in galleries, not glossy magazines — isn’t constrained by perceived flaws. It’s not about trying to look like everyone else, but celebrating what makes us unique.
I WANTED TO EDIT OUT THE CELLULITE BUT WAS TOLD NO
Heather Spencer, 53, is an international recruiter from Clapham, London.
Heather Spencer, 53 (pictured) from Clapham, London, decided to commission a naked painting of her body to celebrate how far she has come
Three years ago, I was diagnosed with two brain tumours and had surgery that year. It was terrifying because there was a real chance I wouldn’t make it.
But when I survived, it made me realise you only have one chance to live. Soon afterwards, I decided to turn my life around, and hired a personal trainer during lockdown. After 15 months of online sessions, I lost three-and-a-half stone.
Now I’m a size 10 to 12, just like I was in my 20s, only this time I have the soft body of a 53-year-old. And yet, I’m more confident than ever.
For the first time in my life, I feel truly good about myself and I’m comfortable in my own skin. This is me. It’s what I’ve gone through and it’s where I am now. I wanted to embrace it.
I decided to commission a naked painting of my body to celebrate how far I’ve come. I’d seen artist Jaz Ward posting nude paintings of her clients on Instagram and asked her for three: one of my bum and legs, one of my back, and one from the front. I wanted to put them on the wall and have a 360-degree view of myself. They’re £300 each, but it’s a treat.
Initially, I wanted Jaz to edit out the cellulite and make my bum rounder. But she said no, I’ll do you as I see you. I’m glad I trusted her because now I see myself through new eyes. I know it’s me, but if people come over they won’t.
The pose is quite sexy. I’d lost that side of myself and this was to help me get that confidence back.
It’s helped me feel sexy again, and after being single for a while because of my health and Covid, I’m now ready to put myself back out there.
My friends think it’s great. If other people think it’s vain, I don’t care. It’s completely for me, to show where I’ve come from. It’s a pat on the back to myself.
MY SISTER LIKED IT SO MUCH SHE WENT TO BE PAINTED TOO
Harriet Catchpole, 24, is a waitress from Suffolk.
Harriet Catchpole, 24, (pictured) from Suffolk, was inspired by artist Sophie Tea on Instagram after changing who she follows on social media
Growing up, I never saw myself as desirable; I didn’t have any curves. It was only when I went to university in London and met lots of diverse, confident people that I felt inspired to appreciate myself.
I started to wonder, why do I care so much about social media and what people think? I began to embrace the way I looked, even my acne. I changed who I followed on social media and felt a lot better as a result.
I used to cry about my acne all the time. But now I just let go and stop for a minute. I say: ‘You are you, and no one else is you.’
That’s when I began to think about getting a nude artwork. I was inspired by artist Sophie Tea on Instagram who has become famous for her self-love nudes, but she charges £4,000.
I couldn’t afford that, so I found Bronagh Genovesi through TikTok, and commissioned a nude from her for £250, sending her a photo of myself. I decided not to include my face as I felt a little cautious.
At first, I was nervous about what my mum and stepdad would say. But actually I think I’ve encouraged Mum, who’s 55, to feel better about her body.
And when I showed my 29-year-old sister, she was so inspired she had her own nude painted.
Mine hangs on the wall opposite my bed and when I look at it, I’m really proud of myself. I can’t wait to have it up when I buy my own house one day.
It was out of my comfort zone, but turning myself into art has changed how I see my body.
For the first time, I feel really sexy and beautiful.
- Thirty Things I Love About Myself by Radhika Sanghani (£15.99, Headline Review) is out now.
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