Waiter, there’s a nudie in my noodles!
The evolutionary branch of hominins (human species) took its own path around 6 to 7 million years ago. Evidence of tool use by hominins can be found around 3.3 million years ago. Modern humans (Homo Sapiens) emerged a mere 300,000 years ago, and scientist believe clothes were first worn by humans around 170,000 years ago*. So, to summarise the maths in a phrase, humans have been starkers for most of our history. No other creature on Earth has ever adopted clothes (the PG Tips chimpanzees don’t count!) and so it should come as no surprise that the human species managed for so long without corduroys or the more primitive fur sash. In fact, the oddity is that we did adopt garbs: but then again, we’re an odd species!
Of course, evolution is central to animals’ ability to survive au naturale. Being suited to your environment makes survival a lot easier. When climates change, those that can’t take those micro-steps to adapt will pop off. It is quite incredible to think that so many creatures managed to adapt to survive an ice age, the hairiest and furriest in the northern clime. But equally telling of the fickle nature of evolution that so many weren’t then able to adapt to a warming world. Modern humans managed this feat but not just with the assistance of an evolutionary tweak or two.
Human migration around the world was rapid and expansive, transporting us into an array of varied and challenging environments, few matching the savannah landscape of our origins. Homo Sapiens were not the only human species to spread out of Africa and adapt, but, at some point, all others succumb to one climate change too far, joining that extinction fad so popular with species. Our pre-modern human ancestors did, however, bequeath us some essential skills to help be a little more successful: a large, strategic-thinking brain, the use of tools and the control and utilisation of fire. So, when Homo Sapiens left Africa some time between 50-70,000 years ago on their own global odyssey, possessed of that je ne sais quoi, or just luck, that separates us from our less fortunate predecessors, we managed to spread and survive. Now, it is theorised that while in the hotter environment of Africa, modern humans had adapted to the heat and lost much of our body hair (I’ve always considered my baldness as an evolutionary advancement!). Already having demonstrated our capacity to utilise nature to our own benefit with tools and fire, it somehow feels natural that when the environments we found ourselves in became uncomfortably cold, we borrowed again from nature and found an artificial way to keep ourselves warm, harvesting the skins of other creatures, not requiring an evolutionary re-growing of body hair.
In cooler climes, once clothes were invented, humans never looked back (isolated tribes in the tropical Amazon of today still have no need for clothes). There was no prudish embarrassment about nakedness, but clothes became a necessity to survive, then evolved in their own way to be symbolic as humanity developed social hierarchies. Spiritual and group leaders may have stood apart, adorned with grander materials and brighter colours, signifying their importance. As societies grew in size and complexity, as trade expanded, so would the range and sophistication of clothing. And while civilisation adopted clothing as one of its symbols, nudity and the natural form still found recognition and respect within them: just think of your classical Greek statue. For the West, our Victorian ancestors instilled within us our discomfort for the flesh, with their moralistic imperialism, where even a lady’s ankle was an exposure too far (I’m sitting down to recover from a racing heart). The later Twentieth century relaxed a fair amount, from the mini skirt and bikini, to the topless over-weight male footy fan on the terrace in minus four (not sure the latter counts as acceptable or palatable!), but still struggled with nakedness in general. And now in the Twenty-first century, for all the overt sexualisation of modern culture, most retain a discomfort when considering our natural form, yours truly included (I hate to show off the six-pack!)
Which finally brings me to Mooge and the difficulty of presenting an illustrated children’s book on prehistoric humans when, for a large part of their story, they hadn’t got around to inventing clothes. One thing I decided at the start was I would not compromise on the fact that in the sequence of human advances, inventing clothes followed tools and the controlling of fire, meaning some necessary nakedness (of the discreet kind). Now, I know for a fact that kids will laugh and giggle at a picture of a naked person, no matter how discreet. But I also know a kid will think it amusing to stick a tiny toy figure up their nose until they realise it won’t come out and A&E beckons. So, as an adult and author I have to provide the moral guidance in what they see and read. A responsibility I take seriously. Unfortunately, that overt sexual culture I mentioned earlier has crept into our children’s lives, from gyrating pop stars, tasteless T-shirts and an abundance of internet content. It risks confusing and damaging their development. However, sexualisation and naked are not the same thing. All those animals who didn’t bother to invent clothes walk around naked and we don’t think of that as sexual and we’re all born naked and remain naked beneath our artificial layers. Telling the story of our ancestors who broke free from the shackles of absolute dependency on nature and its fickle whims, is too important, and inventing clothes is a critical element of that story, as too the age of nudie-ness before. What state have we got ourselves in to if we ignore fact for the sake of irrational fear. I, therefore, make no apology for unattired cartoon individuals in the first few chapters of Mooge (there is nothing indelicate to see) and I assure you kids will laugh, but won’t be confused or damaged (you’re on your own with what they stick up their nose). That’s the naked truth.
Nate Wrey