“Somebody once said it’s what you don’t see that you’re interested in, and this is true,” said Groucho Marx. Since then, decades of out-there porn, Kardashian bum selfies and teenage sexting have replaced this gentle approach. In the modern world, full-on nakedness is often considered far sexier than a flash of thigh. But according to a new TV show, Naked Attraction, nudity is not about sex at all.

The tired old saw of “a dating show with a difference” proved true in this case, as participants shed all their clothes, and chose a date from a line-up of naked options (it wasn’t all out there immediately – bits of them appeared gradually from a frosted glass box, like St Paul’s emerging from a morning mist).

Remarkably, both contestants ended up choosing partners they went on to date after the filming stopped, with Aina beginning a relationship with a male artist, and bisexual woman Mal now involved with “curvy Rebecca”, who said that getting her clothes off before their first date helped her to feel less insecure.

It seems a slightly peculiar way of getting to know somebody, the sort of thing 1960s drama schools did to “break down inhibitions’” (and give the tutors a good leering session). But perhaps there’s something in it.

Most of us, particularly women – though increasingly men too – learn to dislike our bodies in adolescence, if not before. A constant, subconscious process of compare and contrast was always integral to teenage self-loathing, but now that awareness is compounded by nonstop ads showing “beach-body ready” models, internet porn featuring actors whose assets have been enhanced until they resemble human Manga cartoons, Instagram streams of “ordinary” people whose job is now somehow modelling bikinis for sponsored content … No wonder we look at our own misshapen, scarred, flabby, short, tall, pale, blotchy or pigmented bodies in despair, and believe that nobody will ever want to gaze lovingly at them, let alone touch them in a spirit of mutual sexual attraction.

This self-doubt doesn’t end when the awkward throes of adolescence do, either. One survey found that one in six women won’t allow their husbands to see them naked, and for the majority of those it’s “lack of body confidence” standing in their way. Meanwhile another survey, for the brand Cotton USA, revealed that 57% of couples who sleep naked are happy in their relationships compared with 48% of those who bundle themselves into pyjamas and T-shirts to go to bed.

It seems a shame, then, that so many of us are hampered by alarm and embarrassment at the sight, or even thought, of our naked selves – and it makes sense that being forced to confront our own bodies, and our potential future partner’s, straightaway, in a nonsexual context, could be the very thing that cuts through the self-consciousness.

Once you’ve met and liked someone, you immediately want to impress them. You start to care what they think of your jokes, your voice, and (of course) your looks. When sex might be on the agenda, there’s the paralysing dread that you’ll take off your clothes, and they’ll take one look and say: “Oh dear, made a mistake, sorry. Have you got a taxi number?”

If they’ve only seen you in well-cut jeans and leg-lengthening boots, and they don’t know about the stubborn roll of back-fat, or the regrettable tattoo of Tweetie Pie on your hip that you had done in Mykonos 15 years ago, the fear is that they might be in for a relationship-ending shock.

How much better, then, to be able to assess the physical goods before progressing to an emotional connection; to be able to say “I don’t care that you have a caesarean scar – I like your bum,” or “Your willy’s a bit small, but you have lovely arms,” and make a decision based on the bare facts. That way, the great mountain of sex isn’t looming over the first, nervous drink. You may not know how it will feel, but you know what it’ll look like.

Perhaps sexting one’s way into a relationship shouldn’t be considered sexual at all, but a practical exchange not dissimilar to an eBay purchase: “Show me some clear pictures so I know what I’m getting.” That way, there’s no buyers’ regret, and everyone’s on board from the start.

Groucho Marx was probably right – it is more interesting not to know everything. But it’s a lot more reassuring if you do.