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I was applying body lotion in the locker room at the local YMCA, having just enjoyed an invigorating swim and a leisurely shower.

Standing stark naked with my hair wrapped in a towel, I heard someone approach and loudly exclaim, "Is that Professor Kay?"

Oh yes, it certainly was. In all my glory.

The first thought that ran through my head wasn't fit for publication in a family newspaper.

Since vanishing did not seem an option: I did what nice teachers do. I made polite conversation with a lovely former student. A former student now dressed in a T-shirt, shorts and sneakers as I stood unclothed with only a towel on my head.

To her credit, she made good eye contact. Her eyes didn't roam as we chatted about her career and her young family.

But through the entire conversation I agonized inwardly. I could not escape the disquieting thought that this former student, now working for a large organization along with other former students, would return to her workplace chortling: Guess who I saw today? And guess what she wasn't wearing?

In my day-to-day work, standing in front of a classroom of university students, I don't dwell on my attire. Although I'm in a prime position to be scrutinized by many pairs of eyes for a couple of hours each class, I wouldn't get much teaching done if I didn't place my personal appearance on the back burner. But every once in a while I'm reminded that students do assess the way I look - not only the way I teach.

A few years ago, on the course evaluation form that students use to rate their professors anonymously on their effectiveness in the classroom, I received this unusual comment: "Hot dresser."

On the other side of the coin, two of my undergraduate students, a young man and a young woman, cornered me after class one day and handed me an invitation to the grand opening of a trendy clothing store where they'd recently been hired. "You'd look great in the clothing they sell," the young woman enthused. The young man nodded vigorously. Underlying message? Your wardrobe could use a boost.

From their perches in the horseshoe-shaped configuration of a typical university classroom, students sit in judgment. As they watch the teacher talk, students have ample time to study every flaw. Are your pants too short? Do your socks match your outfit? Did you wear the same turtleneck sweater to class last week? Are you having a bad hair day?

I teach at a commuter school. In the past I rarely saw my students outside the classroom, spared such intimate moments of contact because I lived in the distant suburbs. In more than a dozen years of suburban life, I can remember running into a former student only once - at the local Costco - and while I might not have looked my best, neither did she, nor were we expected to. We were at Costco, after all, where jeans and sneakers are the dress code.

But a recent move to Montreal has changed my invisibility quotient. I've seen students dashing madly from rack to rack in Winners on a Thursday night. I've run into students in the Plateau as I left a Saturday-night salsa lesson. I've seen former students on the Metro, heading to their jobs as I commute to the university. And I've seen former students in the swimming pool at the local Y. While it's bad enough to be recognized in the pool, where I'm wearing a swimsuit, unglamorous goggles and a tight bathing cap, at least I'm wearing something.

My daughter, who just entered university and is the same age as many of my students, calls it "highly disturbing" that I disrobe at all in a public locker room. When she occasionally accompanies me to the Y for a swim, she'll head to the bathroom to undress in private. She won't even remove her bathing suit in the shower and strongly feels I should follow her lead.

But years of swimming in a master's club at a public pool, where communal showers were the rule, have accustomed me to the open concept. It never fazed me to stand naked before fellow swimmers in my club, maybe because most of us were middle-aged and sagging in similar places.

Standing naked before perfect strangers at the Y doesn't faze me either. Anonymity is a potent shield. But when it comes to former students, that's a different story. It's not that their bodies are tighter or firmer. It's a question of exposure in a different light.

I don't cover up completely since that encounter in the locker room. I do admit, however, that I scan my surroundings more closely when I enter, to see if there's any young person in the vicinity who looks familiar. If there is, rest assured my towel will be snugly around my body, not on my head.

Linda Kay lives in Montreal.