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How Jets Naked Beach Became a Safe Haven for Body Acceptance
Waking up every morning in Puerto Vallarta, in true Leo fashion, I take a long look at myself—nude as I was born, nude as I play. My bronzed skin, inked tattoos, blonde hair, and strong body are a reflection of years of growth. At 39 years old, for the first time, I can look in the mirror and not wince. I see power. I see beauty. I see me. But it wasn’t always this way.
I spent my formative years in conservative Austin, Texas, shaped by Christian values that made nudity almost sinful. Wearing a shirt to swim or skipping pool parties altogether wasn’t unusual for me, a chubby, shy kid struggling with body dysmorphia. Add the quiet, isolating experience of being a gay boy from Mexican immigrants in Texas, and you get years of shame tucked under my skin.
In my 20s, I ran—away from Texas, from expectations, from myself. I traveled the world, searching for something I couldn’t name. I landed in Barcelona, and there, at 23, I dared to go to a nude beach for the first time. Of course, my luck, a family sat right next to me on an otherwise empty beach the moment I came back from the ocean. Scary but still, it was a start.
Puerto Vallarta: Where Freedom Found Me
Years later, I landed in Puerto Vallarta. At 30, wandering became my purpose. I started as an ATV guide—riding ATV’s, hiking to waterfalls, eating seafood, and showing tourists the best of Vallarta. I loved it.
Clients would ask, “What do you do for fun on your days off?” Snorkeling, I’d say, and soon enough, they started inviting me to take them and rewarding me with a tip for it. A year later, my Jet’s Private Boat Tours climbed to #3 on TripAdvisor, and my little side hustle began to take shape.
That’s when I met Daniel. I stumbled upon him one night at a party, and a spontaneous, late-night swim under the moonlight turned into the most exhilarating, skinny dipping experiences I’d ever had. That moment solidified something I hadn’t realized I was searching for: freedom from shame. Daniel, a natural-born nudist, suggested, “Why don’t we do nude tours?”
The Birth of Jets Naked Beach
That summer I went on a previously planned “nude world tour”—Hansen nude all male saunas in Japan, non-sexual gender mixed bathhouses in Germany, nude beaches in Spain. The stars were aligning and each experience peeled back a layer of shame I’d carried for years.
In the middle of it all I would call Daniel up and say, “Let’s do it!” Our first nude tours were tiny—two to five people at most—but they felt right. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about objectification. It was about stripping away judgment, shame, and yes, clothes.
Over time, the tours grew. A poster featuring Daniel—who had the swimmer’s body I only dreamed of—helped launch us into popularity. I stayed behind the scenes. I couldn’t imagine myself being the face of it; my dysmorphia still whispered that I wasn’t “enough.”
The Day Fear Became Freedom
Then came that September—low season, post-pandemic, and a boat full of 20 guests waiting.
My guide, Jordan, a Canadian homegrown dream with rugged beauty—muscular build, square jaw, six-pack abs, a hairy chest, and piercing blue-green eyes that oozed confidence—called in sick with COVID. I was alone, and I wanted to cancel. Standing in the shower that morning, I did self-affirmations out loud, stared at my reflection, and tried to swallow my fear.
I was terrified. Me, the chubby Mexican guy who never saw himself as “poster-worthy,” was about to guide 20 men—one of them very my type, including an Armenian 6’2” dark featured Greek-god-looking DJ. I could feel the nerves shaking my voice. But as soon as I took off my clothes on that beach, something happened. We all darted to the ocean. You can’t hide when you’re naked—no masks, no lies—just your body and the sea breeze. I laughed to myself as I led that impossibly perfect DJ into the water to teach him how to swim. Here was this stunning man, all muscle and confidence, yet he couldn’t even float. While he stayed bobbing above in his life jacket, I dove beneath and did a disappearing “snorkeling” trick with the ease of someone born to the water. And let me tell you, I can “snorkel” under water for quite a while.
When we finally stepped out of the ocean, we were both equally impressed—for very different reasons. By the end of the day, tequila in hand, we danced, we laughed, and we let go. I realized then that confidence isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence.
The Naked Truth About Dysmorphia
Here’s the funny thing I’ve learned after years of leading nude tours: the men with the most “perfect” bodies—six-packs, square jaws, chiseled everything—are often the ones struggling the most with body dysmorphia. And it’s not surprising. I’ve talked to hundreds of men, and almost everyone, no matter their size or shape, has carried shame about their body.
That’s why Jets Naked Beach became more than just a tour. It became a space where men—young, old, gay, straight, muscular, round, scarred, smooth—could strip down and see each other beyond the surface.
Nudity breaks walls. I’ve seen strangers share drinks, share laughs, and connect in ways they wouldn’t fully clothed.
For me, this journey has been transformative. From a shy kid wearing shirts in the pool to a 39-year-old man leading hundreds of guests every weekend on these clothing-optional adventures, I’ve learned to love myself. And yes, now I’m on the damn poster! That doesn’t mean I’m perfect. A few months ago, I started training with a nutritionist & gym trainer—a former Mr. Mexico winner, no less. I see my body changing, but more importantly, I see it for what it is: mine. The extra fat here and there doesn’t bother me as it used to. I think it’s cute and part of my growing body.
The Invitation
Whenever I invite people to join Jets Naked Beach, the first response is usually, “I’m not ready for that.” And my answer is always the same: “Nobody ever is.”
We’re never truly ready to shed the layers of shame we’ve carried for so long. But once you do it—once you take off your clothes and realize that nobody’s judging you—you’re free. You start to see the beauty in yourself, in others, in all the variety the world has to offer.
Because here’s the truth: we’re all different. Big, small, tall, short, hairy, smooth—none of that matters. What matters is how you carry yourself, how you show up, and how you choose to love the body you’ve been given.
Self-love isn’t a destination. It’s a practice—mind, body, soul, and heart. For me, that practice happens on Jets Naked Beach, surrounded by the sun, the waves, and people who are brave enough to undress their insecurities and embrace their truth.
So if you’re ready—or not ready—but curious, come join us. Leave your clothes, your shame, and your judgment behind. Undress the dysmorphia and put on some self-love. You deserve it. JetsNakedBeach.com: Where self-love is the dress code.
Jet De La Isla is a story teller and self-love advocate based in Puerto Vallarta. Inspired by the candid musings of Carrie Bradshaw, Jet explores the complexities of modern relationships and personal growth in a vibrant coastal town.
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