Have you ever listened to the lyrics of Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack?

You see these shackles
Baby I’m your slave
I’ll let you whip me if I misbehave

WTF? Is that bringing sexy back? Really?

I’ve been exploring what “sexy” is to me. I’ve been strutting down the street, shoulders back, head up, breasts bouncing up and down, hips swaying with each step. I’ve been taking singing lessons, belting it out, finding places in my voice I’ve kept hidden for years. And last week, thanks to the lovely Jennifer Gandin, I took a free introductory S Factor class, slid down a pole, stripper-style, and loved it. But none of this compares to what I experienced at a Halloween party on Saturday night.

In past years, I’ve been Snow White, Wonder Woman and a French Maid. This year, I bought an animal print muumuu. I borrowed my friend Julie’s black wig. I painted on whiskers, and I was good to go. I guess I was some sort of pussy cat. Pretty lazy compared to Julie, who dressed up as Heather, the runner up on Rock of Love. Brilliant.

We walked from the Lower East Side to the Chinatown Brasserie on Lafayette and made our way to the downstairs bar.

Waiting for the bartender’s attention, we checked out the other people in the room. There was a group of tennis players, a couple of Amy Winehouse look-a-likes, Borat, a police officer, and a few random “sluts,” cause you know, Halloween is the one time during the year you can dress like a slut.

There was a DJ, a really good DJ, who played everything from Thriller to Crazy in Love to Hot In Herre. The room was packed. The ceilings were low. People were dancing and sweating in their wigs and vinyl and fake fur.

After a couple of drinks, Julie and I ventured upstairs where the ceilings were higher, the music was louder and the alcohol was taking effect. We started to dance. I started to dance, not just back and forth, clap your hands once, repeat. I got DOWN. My body took on shapes I had no idea were possible. At some point, I was literally jumping and twirling mid-air.

Now, I love to dance. I have always loved to dance, but this was different than anything I had ever experienced. I didn’t know what had come over me. It wasn’t the alcohol. I’ve had drinks before. It wasn’t the music. I’ve boogied to Beyonce before.

It was the muumuu.

I had unzipped it to show a little cleavage, yes, but other than that, you could not make out one curve. You couldn’t see anything. I might as well have been dancing in a potato sack, and I have never felt sexier in my life. I moved my body without one ounce of self-consciousness. I moved my body the way I wanted to move it, not the way I thought someone else would want me to move it. I wasn’t moving to look sexy. I was moving because something deep inside me needed to move.

It made me think about sex. If I’m naked with someone, focused on how they’re experiencing my body, whether or not they notice a roll of fat or the way my breasts gravitate to either side when I’m on my back, then I’m not really present, not really feeling anything. I zoom right out of my body and straight into my head–not the sexiest place to be. I’m not saying smart isn’t sexy. Smart is very sexy. But there’s a sexiness in letting go of smart, letting go of your mind, your identity, your fears, your anxieties, your bullshit. There is a sexiness in merging with the music, in merging with someone else, in feeling your body as boundless. Free.

I felt like a bonfire on Saturday night. I wasn’t in my head. I was pure movement, energy, expression, and to me, that was bringing sexy back.

What is it to you? I recognize this discussion could get cheesy, fast… bubble-baths…. rain on the back of your neck on an August night… mango dripping down your arm… but seriously, I would love to know what you think of when you think of sexy.

__
Kimmi
Therapy Thursdays