"Sexy"

About two weeks ago, I was sitting in the nearby urban-professional-white-people-lunch-establishment, eating my bland lunch, when I noticed someone very striking. It was a young woman, probably about my age or barely older, and she was ordering coffee. I remember her outfit very carefully, because I stared at it. She was wearing a dark-green cotton minidress, so short that it barely covered her butt. Then a giant bronze belt cinched tight around her waist, and many strands of glittery beads. Black leggings (not tights) were operating basically as pants. She was wearing black slouchy ankle boots and had a giant leather mustard-colored handbag. I don't think my description is doing it justice, but with her voluminous head of curly hair and smart black car coat, this woman looked awesome.

And you know why I paid this any attention, and why I still remember her outfit so precisely? This woman was fat. Not "chubby" or "curvy" or whatever bullshit "people-who-aren't-size-4-can-still-be-sexy-or-cute-right?-right?" euphemism we're using now. No, fat, like me. Probably more fat. And she was wearing the kind of outfit that I, and most fat women, and probably most medium-sized women too, would think "I could never wear that." I would never dream of going out in basically leggings and a long shirt. This very jarring experience, of seeing a woman who basically looks like me (although taller), wearing something I would be far too self-conscious to wear, and looking so good, really stuck with me.

I should also mention that I'm no shrinking violet when it comes to fashion, either. I never subscribed to the baggy-clothes prescription that many plus-size retailers seem to hold fast to. I wear mostly form-fitting and body-conscious clothes. I sometimes pair unconventional items together. And I look good when I want to (which is about half the time, the other half I generally don't give a shit).

But I would not wear that outfit.

On my way back to the office, I felt like something exciting had been revealed to me. (I want more belts! Maybe I should get some black leggings). I'm kinda broke, but when I do get some money this nameless woman who I will likely never see again is going to get credit for at least one fabulous outfit.

Today, I was thinking about that woman again, and about my reaction. My boyfriend just fixed my long-broken ipod, and walking around with music in my ears makes me feel infinitely more badass. So I was strutting downtown in my black dress and red coat on my way to pick up lunch, and thinking about Yes Means Yes and how it's really a shame that being "sexy" is such a constrained and loaded concept.

Because I want to be able to feel sexy. But there is no "sexy" that exists independent from rigid ideas about attractiveness, and there is no "sexy" that exists outside of being a target and a receptacle for other people's fantasies and desires. I want to be able to strut down State Street and feel like a million bucks without that nagging feeling that other people around me see me as inferior and insufficient. I want to be able to smile at passerby with a warm and sultry smile that reflects my inner mood, without worrying that someone is going to think that means they get to follow me, unwelcome, to wherever I'm going. And so "sexy" is constrained, it's boxed in and timid at every moment except the ones where I'm actually having sex, and that's far too constrained a world for sexy to live in.

Maybe tomorrow I'll try my strut again, to the same song, and try to forget all that this time.