July 7, 2006
What is sexy…

Confident is sexy. Brazen and arrogant is not. Clean is sexy. But then so is sweaty after/during exercise or hard work. Greasy is not. Ever. Dirty is different than greasy and is only allowed during strenuous activity.

A man who knows how to dress well is sexy. Matching outfits are not. Especially “ethnic” costumes in made up settings. Like Oktoberfest and Kwanzaa. A man who spends lots of dollars he doesn’t have to look Trendy is not sexy. If he is over the age of 25 he becomes worthy of mockery rather than pity. If however, he can afford expensive and he wears it well, he is lovely.

A hot car with a man who looks old enough to have earned the right to drive it is sexy. Little punks in daddy’s mid life crisis are not. Ever.

Men with finely manicured soft white hands are not sexy. A firm handshake is attractive. Dead fish falling off your wrist onto my palm makes me queasy and causes me to question your lifestyle choices and whether or not you really have testicles still attached.

Men who wear too tight pants over their boxers so that all the world can see what they’ve been blessed with are not enticing. Neither are men who wear pants so baggy that the waistband rides below their buns.

A tan is nice but not necessary. Facial hair is acceptable if it is cared for. Sasquatch is single. There’s a reason why.

Fit is nice but not required. A good suit will hide a multitude of flaws and confidence will carry you beyond what you may consider your limitations. So will just ordinary clothes that fit well. Like in the size you wear now for real. Not the size you used to wear in college. It’s not helping you if you can’t get your ego around that fact that you don’t wear that size any more.

Body builders who can’t cross their arms and wear spaghetti strap tanktops are not sexy. I don’t care if you can bench press 1500. You have turned into a freak show. Side note, women who look this way are beyond freak show.

I prefer tall men. Being 5’2″ I suppose that includes any man over 5’9″. The Mr. is 6’1″ and I find that lovely. But I once dated a man who was 6’5″ and well, that was nice too. I find Little Man Syndrome unbelievably Not Sexy. But I once dated a boy who was 5’4″ and with his something degree black belt in some martial art I cannot remember I found his quiet confidence and strength quite appealing. Unfortunately he didn’t have the same moral fortitude and didn’t think he should limit himself to one relationship at a time… Different story, different day. That’s not sexy, tho’.

Power is sexy. Powerful men are those who have strength/authority and they control themselves. Power or strength under control is sexy. Power or strength out of control and used to dominate and destroy is repulsive.

For me, intelligence is an aphrodisiac. I find Smart Men endlessly fascinating. Not IQ only, but EQ as well. But to have the EQ without the IQ? Men who use big words in the proper context and can dazzle me with their astute observations of world events are guaranteed the tiniest bit of instant affection.

Men who are willing to find their own path without “permission” from others are sexy. Men who are passive and wait to be acceptable are pitiable at best and ridiculous at worst.

Men who can hear an opposing view and not comprimise their own core are fabulous. When they can hear the view, allow it to exist and not be threatened by it? Positively marvelous.

I like men. Men of all shapes and sizes. All occupations and walks of life. I like blondes, brunettes, bald men. I find silver hair quite nice. Given the chance, I will most likely choose the unusual suspect. I rarely go for the Leading Man. I almost always like the intellectual sidekick.

There are very few men out there who are willing to step up and BE men. I find that sad and a waste of good testosterone.

So here’s a pile of Macanudo’s, a bottle of good port and a 3 day trip to some fabulous/exotic destination for all of you who revel in the fact that G-d made you manly.

It’s for all of you who refuse to apologize for making guns out of toast when you were 4, for enjoying blowing things up when you were 12. For appreciating beautiful women and treating them well when you were 25. For being the one who fixes the tires and carries the heavy stuff when you are 38. For having The Talk with your sons long before they stand in black tuxedos with ashen faces while the Wedding March sends tremors down their spine. Here’s to the men who look at their wives and see Mrs. America when she’s 65. Here’s to the men who can fish all day, drink beer with buddies and howl at the moon. When he’s 70. Here’s to the 90 year old gentleman who cares diligently for his wife. Even when she no longer knows who he is.

With men like you I know I am free to be the woman I am intended to be. And together, we form an image of G-d.