Who's That girl?

You know That girl. The one who exudes sex appeal, who is beautiful, makes men weak in the knees, unable to speak coherently? The one who carries herself as a beautiful woman does, with confidence, optimism, a sense of calm and also of impending danger. She knows it in her soul, that she is beautiful, that she has a power over men. She enjoys it, it nurtures her being, it causes her to smile and hold her head high, to smile at strangers and wear her best clothes and makeup even on a quick trip to the market. She is not necessarily vain; no, she may be quite humble, and when questioned directly about her beauty or sex appeal she may deny its presence, say she is plain, just like everyone else, nothing special. But her deportment and radiance belie her modesty. These are the women for whom men write songs and poetry; for whom they do silly sappy things that they will not admit to in front of their brethren. Bring chicken soup when she is sick. Rub her back when she has cramps. Send emails and text messages with little happy faces blowing kisses. You know these women. You know the effect they have on men.

I have never been That girl. Never. My beauty has always been in my personality…my brains, my abilities, my friendship. Those are the qualities that attract my friends, that bring about compliments, that form the scaffold of my identity. But sex appeal, physical beauty, these are not things I am familiar with. I know them well, my friends are Those girls. I have seen the effect first hand, have been there to act as translator, chaperone, buffer, decoy, excuse. To gently sweep up the bits of men left in their wakes, to assure them, listen sympathetically and set them on their way. I am the girl men want as their best friend, confidante, activity partner. Occasionally even as a lover. But they are clear, I am not That girl. They deny any loss of cognitive ability in my presence; there is no disturbance of motor control or impulsive declarations of love set to music, accompanied by hearts and flowers. With me, men are sensible, practical, measured.

So what of my recent experiences? Where men have used words like “beautiful”, “sexy”, “hot” when describing me. Where they have rambled about “gazing into my eyes”, sent me happy faces blowing hearts and kisses and blathered about my ability to make them go “crazy”. What is this about? “You have an incredible body” is not a phrase I have ever heard, even from my husband. I know I don’t, so to hear it is both flattering and shocking and slightly irritating. Having never thought of myself as being That girl, I am very unaccustomed to receiving her praise and eliciting her effects on men. I don’t know what the hell is going on to be quite honest.

I am not That girl. I am afraid, however, that I will start to believe I am. Believe my own hype. The way down is long. Girls like me were never meant to fly.