Let's face it—some women just have it. It pours out of them, it drips from their fingertips, it is as much a part of who they are as the name they were given. What is it? Sex, of course. Some women are just undeniably sexy.
So, how in the hell did they get that way? And what do we have to do to be considered the same?
This is a question I've been asking myself since I was a tweenager. As early as the 4th grade, I began noticing that some girls had something that most didn't. There was always a line to be close to these girls almost everywhere I turned: Classroom project partnering, school dances, seats at their lunch tables, recess games—you name it—there was a eager line waiting.
There was never a lack of attention for these particular girls. Boys wanted to be with them and girls wanted to be them and that's just the way it was.
To say that I was awkward in my early years is a bit of an understatement. To my dismay, being a chubby girl who liked to read books and play with farm animals was not the recipe to being the most popular girl in school. And trying to figure out the correct ingredients to that recipe proved to be equally frustrating.
To this day, I am still in awe of those girls. They still have it. I suppose it's something you never lose. They've simply traded in their LA Gear Lights for stilettos and—shocker—there is still a line of people waiting to sit with them at lunch.
I know so many women in my life who have this effortless sex appeal and I continue to observe them when we go out. Before we are even halfway through our first happy hour cocktail, these women will have already had someone offer to pay for that one and put another on deck! It's as if they are wearing a sign I am unable to see or they got a memo that the rest of us missed.
Did the memo say you were supposed to wear pink if you wanted to get hit on? Or order a frozen strawberry margarita with extra cherries? If so, looks like I will be buying my own cocktails for pretty much, well, EVER. I'm actually OK with that though. I'll break the bank if it means I get to keep my black leggings and dirty martinis.
When men approach my sexy friends, they are SO cool about it. They aren't stumbling over their words or sweating profusely or eating tortilla chips nervously (all things I am likely to do), they just thank them and find a way to politely return to my company without offending them or casually get their contact information. It is a walk in the single men park for them! (No, I don't know where that park is, but if I find it I promise this blog will be the first to know.)
When I was single and men bought me drinks, I was a mess. I mean, what did they want from me? A handshake or an awkward hug? Maybe a high five? Because that's about all I had to offer. Flirting was never my specialty.
If a man brought a drink over to me, I was anything but cool. I would either try to give him money for it, spill it on him or, if I finally accepted the drink, blurt out that I would not be sleeping with him or performing any other sexual favors just because he bought me an alcoholic beverage. Good Lord, Charlotte. He handed you a martini not a flavored condom taped to a motel room key!—this was usually along the lines of the responses I would receive from my super sexy and cool friends. What can I say? I'm about as smooth as eczema.
I'm just not one of those girls. Sure, I have fun pretending to be from time to time. I even think I have the ability to convince a few guys that I am on a good day. But, when it comes down to it, I am still that pudgy bookworm that didn't mind eating lunch with my teachers or sitting in the front row. It's where I'm most comfortable and it took me a long time to be okay with that fact.
Yesterday, I was observing a different set of girls. One was round in the face and about as coordinated as a hog wearing high heels and the other was lanky with unruly curls and knobby knees. They were playing in mud and squealing with laughter. They were covered in it head to toe. These girls weren't sexy. In fact, I can almost guarantee the word has yet to cross their dirt-caked lips. There were definitely something though, and that something was beautiful—so, SO beautiful.
Those girls were my nieces. While watching them play, my sister made a comment about their innocence. She talked about how priceless it was and how heartbreaking it is that so many girls these days lose it more quickly than ever. I couldn't have agreed with her more. It was hard to look at them while knowing that they would one day be flooded with the same societal pressures I once (and still) faced.
One day sooner than I'd like, they will feel the need to be wanted, to seek attention—to be sexy. There is not anything I can do to stop this from happening and that is one million times more frustrating than having to deal with the pressures I face myself.
How can I make them see that being beautiful is so much more important than being sexy when they live in a world that all but demands it?
Like I often do, I turned to reading to help find an answer and stumbled across this excerpt called The Evolved Woman:
"She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for that sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul."
And there it is. The reasons being beautiful isn't just better than being sexy—it's what makes you sexy.
"I want to be considered sexy for being beautiful."
That is what I plan to tell the girls when they ask me how I feel about their need to be popular or wanted or desired. I want to tell them that everyone can be beautiful and that it goes so far beyond what the eye can see. I want to grab their soft hands and tell them that those very fingers are capable of doing and shaping and creating beautiful things and express to them how amazing that is.
I want to show them other people doing beautiful things. I want to show them pictures of our family smiling, embracing, and enjoying the company of each other. I want them to hold the photos of when we were first blessed to hold them. I want to show them those who perform acts of kindness for others—those who are truly selfless—and just how beautiful that makes them.
I want them to know that there are others who can see this kind of beauty, too. They know it, they seek it, they desire it just like we do. I want to make sure they know how crucial it is to let this beauty pour out of them, to let it drip from their fingertips, and to make it as much a part of themselves as the very name they were given. This beauty is what should come natural to them.
If they do these things—if they exude this kind of beauty— then someone will notice. And that someone will not just desire them for being sexy. That someone will LOVE them for being beautiful.
And that's the drink you accept. That is the invitation you welcome. That is the person you allow into your company, your conversations—your life. That is the hand you hold.
Because those hands aren't looking for a woman that is provocative but rather a woman that is evolved—a woman that is beautiful. And believe me when I say this: There is nothing sexier or more desired in this world than a truly beautiful person.
And maybe this is not a new concept but, when I look around, it sure seems like it's a forgotten one. The only way we can reinstate it is by striving for it ourselves. So, join me. Let's go out into the world and show those around us just how sexy beautiful can be.