Law of Attraction

Sexy and me got reacquainted during my university years, when I encountered a new breed of woman. University girls wore brightly coloured bras under sheer tops, fishnet tights (often with rips), heavy eyeliner, red lipstick, gold hoops the size of bangles, bodycon dresses and sky-high heels - mostly of the patent variety. This was a fresh idea of sexy and I wanted in. But how?

The idea of flashing flesh made my stomach turn. I was used to swathing my body in oversized layers of clothing, concealing myself for fear of unkind remarks. I would frequently type ‘oversized’ into Asos and start my shopping experience there. There had to be a way of being sexy that didn’t involve a bodycon dress highlighting the ripples and rolls of my body.

The basis of sexy 2.0 was simple: be attractive to men. We were, after all, living in the era of Victoria’s Secret and the Hervé Léger bandage dress: sexy at its most stereotypical. In my understanding, the functionality of sexy clothes was to get you in bed with a member of the rugby team. Sexy was recreating Christina Aguilera’s Dirrty look for a night out with the girls. Sexy was buying an outfit with a thigh-high split à la Angelina Jolie for the Freshers’ Ball. Sexy was dressing up as Lara Croft for Halloween. Sexy was a male- focused expression of fashion, it was for them and not for me. I was terrified of this version of sexy, despite wanting to embrace it so badly.

I didn’t appreciate or realise that the true sexiness of the aforementioned women was entirely different to what I saw on the surface. For Christina Aguilera, it was her no-damns- given dance moves. For Angelina Jolie, it was her confidence in owning the red carpet through her fashion choices, and for Lara Croft it was her intelligence and athleticism that led her to become one of the most successful protagonists in gaming. Those characteristics were sexy.

What does sexy look like in a post #MeToo world?