When I told people I planned to audition for Playboy Magazine’s Girls of the SEC edition, they always asked the same question: “What do you have to do?”

Inside, I think they knew exactly what was expected of me, but they wanted to hear me say it.

“I have to get naked.”

Actually, I wasn’t sure what would be required at my not-so-casual interview, but I figured they’d want to confirm I didn’t have nipples resembling two, large tea saucers. Well, I thought, at least I get brownie points for being sans silicone.

A Playboy administrator named Eden called me Sunday with details about the time and place of my “photo shoot.” It doesn’t matter what you wear, she said nonchalantly, you’ll be nude anyway. She told me to wear natural make up, if I wore it, and wear my hair down.

After an hour-and-a-half primp session Monday afternoon, I arrived at the Holiday Inn on Broad Street and asked for the photographer, David Rams.

The front desk handed me a key for the executive tower – already, I felt VIP! I found the suite with Eden inside. She was a dark, beautiful and approachable woman.

As I nestled into a sofa to fill out the paperwork, I noticed every table offered up inspiring reading material – you guessed it, Playboy.

The forms were straightforward. Had I ever modeled for an adult magazine? No. Any stage name or alias I’m known by? Uh, nope. Then the nitty gritty: waist size? Hip size? Eden said if I had a 36″ bosom, I was probably 26″ in the waist and 36″ in the hips. As ideal as that would be, I wrote them down.

Mr. Rams returned from lunch and it was time. I followed him into the bedroom, leaving three other hopeful candidates behind me.

“You can do this with underwear, topless or nude,” he told me. “Which are you most comfortable with?”

Well, I didn’t come here for a yearbook picture. I managed to mutter out an “I don’t know.”

“Go nude, then,” he said decidedly.

Good thing I didn’t go shopping for lingerie.

Mr. Rams let me disrobe in the bathroom. When I came out, he wasn’t ready yet, which made the whole episode a bit surreal. There I was baring my yoo-hoo while making small talk with a complete stranger.

Do you have many schools to visit after this? South Carolina? How nice. Oh, by the way, I’m buck naked.

As I stood against a wall for my polaroids, I tried to conjure up every pearl of wisdom I’d ever gleaned from “America’s Next Top Model” – don’t lose your neck! – but in the end, I was just me.

Mr. Rams told me I had a lovely smile, that I arched my back just the right way in that shot and, if I just turned a little more that way … perfect! He was nothing but professional, and – dare I say it? – made me feel beautiful.

In the end, the experience helped me realize I’m my own worst critic.

I’m not tan enough, my pre-Playboy self had thought. My stomach isn’t flat enough. My hair won’t curl the right way. My underwear isn’t sexy enough. As it turns out, none of that mattered.

I have no idea what my photos looked like, but the whole experience was a rush and offered a surprising boost of confidence.

Regardless of what you think about Playboy Magazine and the girls it employs, every girl deserves to feel good about what her mama gave her.

As strange as it sounds, baring it all for a stranger can do that.

So be bold, ladies. It’s not like you’re married to that outfit.