Her eyes may be the windows to her soul, but her unclad epidermis is the window to the souls of her clients—at least according to Sarah White, New York’s famous “Naked Therapist” and most likely the only therapist in the country that might be able to sway Charlie Sheen to sign up for the counseling he so desperately needs.
Ms. White claims to be “currently studying psychology and collecting research for a dissertation on Naked Therapy” and that during her $150/hour web-counseling sessions, she uses the “power of arousal” to help her clients gain more control over their lives
And, presumably, to help herself gain more control over her clients’ wallets.
Prior to venturing into psychotherapy, Ms. White labored as a web designer—you guessed it: The Naked Coder—and I predict that once the counseling cash begins to dry up, she’ll take a stab at real estate and market herself as The Naked Broker, in which capacity she’ll be slowly peeling off her clothes while showing luxury condominiums to prospective buyers in order to “help them focus,” to wit focus on her peeling and away from the paint peeling off the walls. (Apparently, opting for the birthday suit uniform counts as an exemption from having to obtain an old-fashioned license for offering one’s services.)
That said, psychology degree or not, Ms. White could well be among the most skillful therapists in New York City. Who knows? You don’t judge a book by its cover, and you don’t judge an attractive young lady by how she chooses to package herself—or not package herself, for that matter. Using her somewhat unconventional approach, she may prove no less effective at alleviating mild depression, uncovering neuroses, and helping the ill-empowered “gain more control over their lives” than are many of her square and robed colleagues in this town, even if she were effective by accident. Perhaps board-certified psychiatrists operate on a different level, but whatever run-of-the-mill LMHC’s do isn’t much of an exact science anyway. For the most part, they simply listen, nod, and periodically interrupt their clients to inquire how they feel about what they’ve just said. As long as a client feels better when he walks out relative to when he walked in and has an incentive to return, the therapist’s methods and getup seem as immaterial as Ms. White’s (literally immaterial) outfit.
Some time ago, I took a few conventional counseling sessions (i.e., the folks who took my money were fully clothed and fully licensed) to get a sense of what psychotherapy is all about. Having watched a number of Woody Allen movies, I had became curious. Although I found these chats quite enjoyable, I suppose I could have gotten the same bang for my buck—and perhaps a little more bang—talking to a comely dame in the buff, provided she had brought an intelligent, patient, and non-judgmental demeanor to the couch; and I don’t see why Ms. White shouldn’t be capable of effecting such demeanor.
After all, the lady seems to be a fairly bright cookie, having gotten herself mentions and write-ups all over the national media of late, from Jay Leno to The Huffington Post to The Wall Street Journal. One would think that the old adage of “nothing new under the sun” applies to sexual services even more than to anything else under the sun, so all the more remarkable it is for Ms. White to have discovered a heretofore unexploited niche in the titillation business, namely selling private peep shows under the gauzy guise of doing psychotherapy. Given the publicity she has managed to garner, no doubt she’ll be raking in the dough for some time to come.
Hard to tell, of course, whether Ms. White cooked this whole thing up on her own, or whether some crafty marketing outfit is pulling the strings in the background and the girl merely serves as the foxy meat puppet in the limelight who gets to pocket a modest modeling commission for providing her scrumptious likeness to the cause.
But if she’s really her own employer and has masterminded the Naked Therapist concept all by herself, my pants are off to her entrepreneurial spirit.
My hat is, I mean—what am I thinking?