In a recent interview, Macy Gray was asked if she feel envious of sexy vixens in the music industry such as Beyonce, Christina Aguilar etc… Macy asked why and the interviewer said, “Because they’re sexy.” Macy firmly said, “I am sexy too.”
I’ve seen Beyonce doing her infamous “uh oh” dance on stage, the guys in the audience going wild, thinking to themselves “Damn, she’s sexy!” Christina Aguliar prances around stage scantily clad, new breasts in the perfect “perky-I-don’t-need-a-bra” formation as she screams with fist high in the air, “They can’t hold us down.” Nothing is wrong with these images, at least, not to the naked eye. In fact, these two women represent all of us in one way or another. The problem comes when society tells us that this is the only way to be; this is the epitome of sexy.
What Macy said struck a chord with me. Macy is no Beyonce or Christina, but she exudes her own type of sexy flair and it works for her. That’s when I realized that I could stop comparing myself so harshly to the pop divas of today. I thought in order to be sexy, I had to look like them; I had to prance around in a thong, show a lot of cleavage, give bedroom eyes to every man in sight and prowl around in my living room like a cat. After years of trying all of these things (and ending up looking like an idiot), I understood so completely that although all those things can be sexy, those things are not the only way you can be.
I realized that sexy is not a one-size-fits all garment. Sexy is based on each individual’s interpretation. Our pop-culture has downplayed all of women’s (especially minority women’s) greatness for so long, that I, a person who prides them self on not being easily manipulated by the media, bought into the hype lock stock and barrel. How dare they cheapen us! How dare I believe it!
It clicked for me that the problem was not “out there” but “in here” within myself. It’s all about how I viewed myself based on the impossibly high standards I bought into: wavy hair, light eyes, light skin and size 0. I have been relentlessly comparing myself to everyone else (i.e., Beyonce) that I forgot to stop and see the beauty within me.
Sexy, I’m realizing, is the epitome of me. Beautiful and sexy are my birthrights’ (amongst other things such as intellect, sarcasm, love for basketball, etc.). I’m beginning to see the world and myself differently now. Sexy isn’t being objectified and being ogled and fondled. If you want to touch my breasts, you better love all of me, not just my twins.
Scarily, I have dated guys with the same warped view of women as I had. I allowed them to make me feel as if I would never measure up to the sexy young divas of today. I was confused, so of course, I attracted into my life men who were confused.
But Macy, with one firm statement, cleared that up for me. Sexy is in all of us. We choose how to show it. However, more importantly, we choose whom to show it to. More than anything else, I’ve learned to re-define sexy for myself in myself.
