SEXY? NO, NO, NO…?

I have been meaning to write a blog post about ‘dressing sexy’. Yes – you read that right. 

Sexy isn’t a word I attach to myself, or the way I dress easily. It's also an adjective that makes me balk when used to describe any of the following – food, cars, interiors, PR strategies, Paul Hollywood…you get the idea. Having said that, something happened when I entered my mid twenties...

I'm wearing the Rosemere dress from Baukjen here. LFF readers can enjoy 20% off Baukjen using the code FASHIONFOLIE20 (valid until 29.11.15).   

(cont) ...I wouldn’t say I became 'body confident' per se – that’s a phrase bandied around meaninglessly by the media in an image obsessed world of fitness videos and faddy diet plans. Nor did I loose any weight, in fact I gained a few muscular pounds thanks to new found passions for spin and box fit classes. But at some unidentified point between the ages of 25 and 28, I simply gave up caring what other people think. 

Of course it hasn’t always been this way. Painfully self conscious as a teen (I cannot emphasise the word painfully enough), my rail-thin size 6 physique earned me the nickname ‘ironing board’ at high school and saw me typecast as the anorexic character in A-Level Theatre Studies (hilariously un-pc in hindsight). In fact, it wasn't until I met my first serious boyfriend, at the age of 19, that I realised I could be sexually attractive to the opposite sex.  


You might think that body confidence should come naturally to me, given I am blessed with a genetically slim build, but let me tell you - my figure isn’t perfect. I'm awkwardly tall, I have non-existent breasts, ginormous feet and child-bearing hips. My stomach is perennially untoned and my calves -  disproportionately muscular thanks to the spin class addiction. But do you know what? Now I'm rapidly approaching the big 3-0, I don’t care, genuinely. Take me or leave me, I’m not changing my physical appearance for anyone, bar myself. I'm fit, I'm healthy, that's all that matters. I don't have the time, or inclination to obsess about my flaws anymore. 

And, ironically - it’s at that moment you stop caring that you suddenly become (balk) – sexy. Skin tight and skimpy outfits no longer terrify me. Formally my nemesis’, mini skirts and short-shorts are now the staples of my summer wardrobe. 'Won't you be wearing tights under that playsuit?' my sister asked recently - definitely not, the pin exposure, that's half the fun! If someone compliments me – I graciously accept. If some one wants to look at my legs – that’s ok. Being a woman no longer terrifies me, I embrace it, and I enjoy it. Hell - it's fun to dress sexy, and if a cute barman wants to lavish me with attention, as happened after I shot these photos, all the better. 

Earrings by independent jewellery designer Anna Byers ℅ Jewel Street.

Disclaimer: this is not a post written to shout 'Look at me! I'm sexy and fabulous! Men love me!' (the latter in particular, being incredibly untrue, given I'm presently the most single I have ever been.) I just wanted to share a little bit of wisdom that my 28 years of life have afforded me. There’s nothing sexier than being comfortable in your own skin. Don’t waste all your time pursuing physical perfection. Aim for self-acceptance, and allow the rest will fall into place. 

Photos: Kylie Eyra