So there is this girl named Amy* I see in this bar I go to a lot and lately, she’s been looking really mind-blowinglyamazing.
And it’s not just because she’s had this kickass makeover and cut her long hair into this trendy pixie cut and has started to step up her style game and instead of wearing tired old jeans and flip-flops, she is rocking leather pants and cool boots. That of course helps, but I’m telling you it’s much, much more than that.
There is a goddamn light in her eyes that’s so insanely bright, it’s magnetic. There is a radiance to her formerly sallow skin. She doesn’t slink into shadows; she walks with a newfound confidence. I’m not lying when I say her denim blue eyes will burn holes right through you.
This has my head spinning in a million directions because just six months ago, you would have never even noticed her. Six months ago, she looked OK, and I’m not trying to be downright bitchy but you probably wouldn’t have looked at her twice.
She had a dull aura. She blended into the walls of the bar. And I always exchanged a smile with her, but she never smiled back. She slouched and gave out the vibe that she didn’t really want to connect with anyone. Her eyes were downcast. I never even noticed how wildly blueher eyes were until very recently. Now I look at her eyes, and it’s like BAM. CRASH. BOOM. LIGHTNING. SPARKLES.
It probably sounds like I want to screwthis girl’s brains out, but that’s not even the case (perv). It’s not even that I’m attracted to her. It’s really just that I’m so deeply fascinated and perplexed by this great shift in energy.
Did she go to a seminar on owning one’s fierceness somewhere in the Catskills? Can I sign up? Are they accepting applications? Who is her therapist and is she taking on new clients? Did she see a hypnotist? Can I get her name, please? Oh spill the secret — HOW did you transform so quickly, sweet Amy?
So I asked an acquaintance who I know knows her.
“Girl, what happened to Amy? She looks SICK,” I slugged backsome of my drink. “In a good way,” I added.
And she responded with, “She came out of the closet.”
“OH, SHE WASN’T OUT BEFORE?” I have the best gaydar on the planet and am notorious for knowing everyone’s sexualities before they even do, so you know, I just felt thelesbian vibesstrongly and assumed she did too.
Our acquaintance chuckled lightly and said, “Girl, no, she wasn’t out. Not. At. All.” She then neglected me in the bar and went outside to smoke cigarettes with some acid blonde beach babe.
I sat on the barstool alone, ferociously scrolling through Instagram, getting increasingly jealous of all the pretty pictures of all the pretty people I follow when Amy strutted into the bar. You wanted to look at her. No, stare at her. She just had that thing. And I’m always curious how people get that thing, so I quietly observed from the safety of my lone barstool.
As I watched her move with incredible ease, I realized exactly what had happened. It wasn’t the leather pants. It was the way she moved in those leather pants. The leather pants weren’t even that cool, nor did they fit her properly. But she moved like a person who was comfortable in her skin. And why was she comfortable in her skin, you ask?
Well, because she had finally come to own her sexuality.
See, our sexuality is such a huge, massive core part of who we are as human beings. And when we’re uncomfortable with that gigantic part of ourselves, it’s palpable.
When I was in the closet and not dressing like myself and trying to be something I inherently wasn’t, no amount of winged liner and designer fragrance and pure barre classes could’ve make me sexy. Yeah, I sort of pulled it off from time to time, but when I look at pictures of my uncomfortable self, something is definitely off. There is a deadness in the eyes and a disconnect from my body and a forcedness to my sexuality and anything forced is automatically unsexy. Because what you have to force isn’t coming from a real place. And beingsexy is all about being real.
Then, when I came out and began to feel really authentically sexual all the time, I began to look more fierce. And Amy and I are just two cases in a bottomless sea of gazillions.
It’s not even about coming out or being gay or being straight. It’s about that deep-rooted feeling, that inner confidence that makes us say “Hell yes, I’m a sexual being and I’m not going to run away from it. I OWN IT despite my sexuality or body size or height or weight or whatever.”
And once you start to do that, all the missing pieces fall into place. It’s like magic, and the more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve seen it so many times. You start to own your sexuality and then you start to dress in the way that makes YOU feel sexy.
You stop worrying about what society deems sexy. The boys start wearing dresses (if that’s what they like) and the girls start wearing slacks (if that’s what they like) and everyone is just gorgeously themselves and starts to burn bright as the stars and draw in all the right people.
Because the right people are attracted to that kind of starlight, you know? You start to become a person with “swagger” that people don’t mess with. Nothing scares off assholes like a person who owns his or her sexual identity (especially if it’s unconventional).
So kittens, if you feel like you’re not being sexy, no amount of makeup or lingerie or surgery will help. You gotta dig deep and get comfortable with your sexuality. Just own it, girl. Let go of the shame surrounding your sexuality, which I know is hard because society has coaxed us into being super ashamed of our sexuality.
But that’s just the boy’s club’s cheap method of holding us back. We don’t need to play by their rules. Instead we can say, “screw you, society, because I’m going to own my sexuality and I’m going to GLOW and I’m going to take over the world with my fierce swag.”
*Name has been changed.