What if I never learn to look sexy?
This is a fashion newsletter.
My brain makes a clear distinction for what it considers sexy and what it doesn’t.
Nensi Dojaka for Calvin Klein is sexy. My signature boxy white tees can attain a sexy outcome if styled accordingly, the Diesel boxers I’m sitting on as I write are only sexy peeking through a slouchy pair of jeans. As for me… I don’t think I’ve ever considered myself “sexy”, at least not my own version of it.
These parameters only exist inside my brain and only ever judge me. So normally, I’ve found myself struggling to find clothes that make me feel (and look!) like my brain’s version of “sexy”.
It started with going out clothes.
What does one wear on a night out with the girls? The kind of night where you want to feel attractive. The nights when you feel you light up the room with an Oscar worthy performance of drunken laughter at your friend’s Tinder-date story. What is anyone wearing when they picture themselves in this cinematic light? Because it can’t be Peter Pan collars and bubble sleeves, can it?
Being attractive, to me, usually required people validating how I looked —and I was never one to receive many compliments unless I was fishing for them.
This is still something I’m ashamed to admit, but writing it onto the endless void that is the internet and without an immediate audience, I’m at peace with confronting myself.
Has my standard for clothes that make me feel good gotten out of my hands? And why can’t my billowy Shushu/Tong blouse be as sexy as the skintight top I refuse to buy in fear of being perpetually uncomfortable?
Granted, the Shushu/Tong blouse I got from an SSENSE sale demands every head to turn towards it, but it has never been in a you’re-so-sexy-I-can’t-stop-looking kind of way. It’s a gorgeous top, makes me feel pretty, but others near me don’t consider it sexy.
Do they just not get it?
The value we place on other’s validation inevitably changes our personal style, and ultimately shapes how we look at ourselves.
There’s this battle I’ve yet to win, the one between how I want to look and how I think I should look to seem attractive. Sexy. I think “sexy” is the word I’m reaching for in the depths of my brain. Simple, yet it emboldens those who seem to have found it.
For most events I opt for something that shows my personality. It’s usually a luxury brand event hosted by my peers, so if I don’t have anything by the brand my move is to fully fit the vibe of the event while still looking very much like myself.
Except for when I wore a cowboy hat to a Viktor & Rolf event that certainly didn’t need it. Confidence is sexy —but at the end of the night I’m not even sure I had that left.
In 2021 and 2022 I only ever wore my vintage Givenchy blazer. It was the only garment in my wardrobe that made me feel good. I wore it to a bar and paired it with a mini skirt, loafers, and mid calf socks. My friend told me that I looked “just like myself”, which is code for “it-feels-kinda-odd-that-you’re-wearing-a-black-wool-blazer-to-the-bar-in-the-middle-of-June.” And she was right, although I appreciated her silence on the matter.
Questioning how to appear more attractive makes me feel less like a feminist. Doing it for the consumption of others, rather than for myself is a revolting thought. Are you attractive only when other people notice? Wanting to feel attractive is conflicting, but I’ll save that for therapy.
My life feels too much like Season 1, Episode 2 of Fleabag sometimes.
The dream of my teenagehood and early adult years was being “the girl who didn’t know how pretty she was”, “girl next door”, if you will. In turn, I became the girl who thought she was unattractive, and spent too many of her personal-style-developing years creating a persona that did not aim to please the people around her, she only ever wanted to experiment with clothes.
Now, I have a very fun wardrobe filled with archive Loewe I get to wear for my birthday, but nothing to wear on a girls’ night out.
I’m a big advocate for wearing your clothes, I basically coined #proudoutfitrepeater (no, I didn't)! It’s just that sometimes a JW Anderson rhinestone bra is a little too loud for La Calle Cerra. Or maybe it isn’t?
I’m conflicted.
At that time, my focus has shifted from “am I pretty?” to “being good looking is not what matters”. I convinced myself of my unattractiveness with Elsa Schiaparelli phrases I recited back to my friends on a weekly basis. It was the only way I knew to completely de-center being pretty from my life. Clothes and my career were the only important things.
This hardly stopped a couple of months ago. The entire time, there was still looming this desire to be attractive, to be considered “sexy” and not just “nice,” “cute,” or “a person who dresses really cool.”
Why can’t my weird clothes I adore ever be considered sexy? Do I have to void myself of the personal style my experiences have allowed me in order to be attractive?
Whether it was the Hot Topic Justin Bieber tank top my mom gifted me for my 6th grade graduation paired with red acid wash ripped skinny jeans, the try-hard southern belle looks I pulled in junior high, or my attempts to wear tights in 90° weather, my outfits are filled with personality, and are always just a tad odd.
They’re just… never sexy.
What’s so wrong with wanting to feel sexy? What does it even look like? Someone right out of a Pedro Almodóvar film? Or is it more based on a Netflix original picture?
And why can’t I ever learn the right way to do it?
Reaching for the Drake version of sexy is tiring, and frankly, uninspired.
As frustrating as it seems to never find the right way to be attractive, I’ve learned some tricks to be sexy in a way that honors my quirks.
Hoodies and mini skirts, and a very sensual bag. Something right out of the Gucci SS23 collection. An unforgettable fragrance. The Attico. Pointed toe heels, but with a slightly unusual feature. A micro dress or skirt, but always add the tights. Yes, even in 90° weather. Fuck it! A cropped jacket with high rise trousers. A white button down as a dress paired with my black Ganni logo stockings. A weird shoe, always a weird shoe! My oversized vintage Givenchy suit that makes me look “just like myself”. Shushu/Tong ladylike silhouettes mixed with a running shoe. Anklets. Chain, string, and beaded ones. Chunky rings. A dark lip liner with a bare face. Contour! Utility belts, wide belts in general. Leather in all of its manifestations. Vintage anything. Small designer everything.
It feels like a high finally achieving sexydom, however, the feeling is fleeting if it’s not rooted in your very own idea of how “attractive” feels and looks.
If I never achieve the sexy Coyote Ugly style that I once envisioned for myself, at least I know I like mid calf socks and loafers, oversized silhouettes, anything that mixes the femininity I tried to deprive myself of for so long and the masculine parts that drip out of me like sweat.
I don’t know what “sexy” is or if I’ll ever meet my own standard for it, but I’d like to explore it. My own version of it, the one that no longer includes other people’s opinion. Weird, odd, different, but completely my own.
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Agreed. I always think I’ll look a certain way in “sexy” clothes but it always seems to feel like playing dress up. But those slouchy jeans and my fave cardi, printed tee and chunky tennis shoes, sandals or flats always make me feel like myself, cute, a little sporty but always unique. I like to think that if I’m trying to feel sexy, the right person will think my style is sexy, just because I am inherently they’re kind of sexy. I get to marry that person next May. He loves my t shirts and jeans, cutoff shorts, button downs and sandals, skirts and sambas style. And so do I. Win, win!