Sexy.

            Thanks to Groupon, and the friend who discovered this particular Deal of the Day, I recently took an “Intro to Pole Dancing” class.  Through this class, I discovered two things: strippers are in phenomenal shape and that I am the antithesis of sexy. 

            The class started with a warm up on floor mats and every exercise doubled as a sensual seduction.  We got on our backs, with our legs in the air, rubbing one down the other in a giant circular motion or “The Clock.”  I circled the wrong way, got my legs tangled, and gave up.  We sat on our knees, leaning back on our heels, then pumped up and down slowly then quickly then slowly again, an exercise appropriately called “The Hump.”  If that had been a couples’ exercise, I definitely would have damaged something; it was more aggressive than sexy.  We channeled our inner sexy walk that was supposed to be an eighth of the speed of our regular walk while rubbing our hands over our bodies and through our hair.  Feeling ridiculous, I stuck with my regular, urgent walk and left my hands somewhere near my thighs.  We did these sexercises until it burned so badly, I expected to see a physique improvement on the spot.  If for no other reason, I need to start having sex to get in shape.

            Finally, we learned a pole trick.  I had no problem with the physicality of it but to then ask me to do it in a way that was enticing was far beyond my realm of capabilities.  (Dancing in college, it once took the team an hour to teach me one sexy move for an opening to our set.  In another dance, I remained in the back with the guys during the girls’ part and what we later referred to as the “sexy circle.”)  Even the recovery after we’d dismounted the pole was supposed to suggest sex.  Unfortunately, the friend I took the class with told me it looked like I was going to the bathroom.  At the end of class, three instructors turned down the lights, turned up stripper music, and demonstrated for us where continuing classes would take us.  Every girl in the class’ jaw dropped to the floor; I finally understood the appeal of strip clubs.  We all admitted to never having seen anything so sexy…ever.  And while I would love to one day exude stripper sex appeal, I don’t think it’s in my nature, no matter how many pole tricks I learn or exercises I do that involve molesting myself.

Sexy is a quality all its own; women who are truly sexy have a presence, a magnetism.  It’s not the girls who think they are sexy that actually are; making out with girls for attention, wearing slutty outfits, and posing for pictures with fish pout don’t quite make the cut.  There is such a huge difference between slutty and sexy, sexy and beautiful, beautiful and pretty, pretty and cute, cute and having a great personality.  Would you rather be a Rachel Green or a Chandler Bing?  A Gloria Delgado or a Claire Dunphy?

            I had a friend, all a tizzy recently, because a guy told her she was pretty.  She refused to admit that was a compliment, claiming that if he really thought she was attractive, he would have said she was beautiful.  Forget pretty; she’s crazy.  There is no doubt a connotation hierarchy that comes with giving a compliment, turning certain compliments into backdoor insults.  A short while ago, I had an unreasonable crush on this guy who dared to start seeing someone else.  While Facebook stalking, I showed a friend a picture of the new girl and asked if I should give up, truly questioning whether or not I could compete.  She looked through a few pictures then said to me, “I bet you’re funnier than she is.”

While sometimes it’s personal interpretation, it is pretty standard to assume being “cool” is the elite, being called “cute” is a step up from “funny” and having a “great personality” won’t land you on the cover of a magazine.