I’m not sexy.
Or at least I don’t feel it. I think I’m ugly. I’m not ashamed of my body but embarrassed by it. I believe my personality is dull. Yet, contrary to that Jarvis Cocker quote about sexiness, it’s me that has their head checked.
It’s a complex thing, being sexy. What exactly is it? After all, I do have my plus points. I have good legs. In the right light, when my pupils are bigger, I have nice eyes. In my younger day, I had lashes to kill for, and still have fairly passable ones even now. Personality wise, I have a certain wit, my sense of humour based on subtlety and knowledge.
Yet at no point in my life have I ever felt attractive to either sex or even to myself. There’s always been a voice in my mind, ever since I can remember as a child, let alone adult, whispering to me “You’re ugly, you’re boring.”
The voice, at times has had a point. I’ve mostly carried too much weight. Never to the point of obesity, or not being able to buy clothes in high street shops because of my size, but at a stage where my GP has said “You could do with losing a bit of weight” when he can’t diagnose an ailment.
My skin is typically Celtic. It’s never tanned. Only either ghostly white or lobster red after 20 minutes in the sun. Occasionally it goes navy blue when the sun makes way for colder weather quickly!
With the pale skin, and my night owl activities, along with being up early every day for my job search (and cooked breakfast for my working lad), the shadows under my eyes tend to be darker than those where I lurk in to avoid become that lobster in the sun, too.
As for my personality, I tend not to say too much to people until I gain their confidence being around them. I avoid parties if I possibly can for that reason, being introvert bordering on shy which often gets mistaken for aloof and snooty.
When I do talk, though, it tends to be too much about subjects I know a fair bit about. I can sometimes see other people’s eyes glaze over yet for some reason I can’t stop myself.
As you can see, I regard myself as a real catch! It is, of course, subjective, and what I perceive may be different to the actual reality of it. There’s also evidence that what I’ve taken as a core belief in life may not be true.
After all, someone must have found me attractive, maybe dare I say it even sexy, enough to have a child with me. The catalyst for starting this blog, too, was because of the heartache through splitting up with my ex girlfriend. She truly loved me, too, even though I never accepted her compliments about my looks.
There’s been other partners and flings, too. All of which points to that maybe I’m not as unsexy, not as dull, not as ugly as I’m convinced I am. My problem is, of course, that little voice in my head telling me for all these decades how unattractive I am. It’s ingrained in me.
Strangely enough, though I’ve often thought I’m happier this way. When I look at vain people, loving themselves, boasting about their looks, I think “At least I’m not like that.” Of course, there’s billions of people who are sexy in mind, body and spirit but without the ego, which I conveniently forget. When your mind builds up stereotypes, contrary evidence is always ignored.
One other thing, too, is that I can spot sexiness in other people straight away. If they have the same or similar self confidence issues I have, I waste no time in letting them know how attractive they are physically and personality-wise. The irony of what I do isn’t lost on me, but quietly disregarded.
There’s also something to be said about it being a typically British attitude. If you’re sexy and you know it, even if you don’t boast about it as such and just display the self confidence that goes with it, a good proportion of people, myself included, will think or say “They’re up themselves a bit.” You often can’t win being sexy!
Not that I know. Being sexy means feeling it, believing it too and I never have. Perhaps one day I will, because I want rid of this depression, this low self-worth, permanently, as there’s no doubt the dim view I have of my looks has something to do with it.
And when that day comes, when I at last think I’m sexy, I’ll do as Jarvis says anyway.
I’ll get my head checked.