We live in world where sexy is defined by anything but evolution.
Overachievers easily fall prey to the ideals that will bring us ego strokes and pats on the head. Let’s examine the bright, shiny objects that mesmerize, and destroy, our lives.
Sexy is SKINNY.
Translation: Sexy is not eating, which by default associates sexy with ulcers, premature babies, visible rib bones, and rabbits. If you’re really committed: Sexy is vomiting voluntarily. Yum. Whoever figured toilets would be part of what’s sexy? (If you’re a man, this still applies since you sniff around for skinny “sexy” women.)
Sexy is POWER.
Translation: Sexy is looking down on the little people, acting pompous on the golf course, shelling out $1K+ to tell time, and $50K+ to get to and from that place you call home, when and if you ever go there.
Sexy is a BIG TITLE.
Translation: Sexy is working 60-80+ hours each week, never seeing your family, answering to squirmy board members and/or shareholders, attending meeting after meeting after meeting, and having a very expensive card that reminds you that you are a Chief in this great tribe of followers.
Sexy is a BIG SALARY.
Translation: Almost synonymous with the big title (read: spending more time with your financial adviser than you do with your kids), but this is where you can get really up the ante.
When was the last time you met a powerful executive with a huge salary and weren’t insanely jealous?
I read about Marissa Mayer or Sheryl Sandberg and I get wrinkles from the anxious knitting of my eyebrows. Billions of dollar signs is such a compelling reinforcer, as if each benjamin salutes you each morning and personally commends you on your success (and sexiness).
As with most things I immediately want, all one must do is read through the Calvin Klein-scented fog and realize that SEXY has been hijacked and made into a dirty, icky concept, especially for us overachievers.
If sexy is never eating (or spending an ungodly amount of time staring at yourself at the gym), paying enormous markups to have someone’s name on your tush, lording over others with your Chief-iness, and having money that you don’t have time to spend on anything that matters, I am totally unsexy.
I voluntarily traded my sexy (or at least future sexy) card in. For what?
To be real sexy.
I can’t take credit. Many others did it first.
The secret to real sexy is FREEDOM. It’s a person who doesn’t rely on anyone else, can take off on a spontaneous trip, and who knows their kids better than their facebook friends.
Marissa Mayer is owned by Yahoo; she was back to the grind 2 hours after giving birth.
The skinny actress is owned by the scale; her bites are not her own.
The Maserati guy is owned by his transportation, just ding one of his doors. So not sexy.
So, how do you measure up (on my completely arbitrary and projected quiz of real sexiness)?
- Are you free to be yourself…at home, at work, at play?
- Do you do what you love? (like every day, not once a decade)
- Are you free to change your mind, or are you stuck?
- Are you debt-free and financially at peace?
- Have you been spontaneously fun in the past month?
- Do you have amazing relationships with those you love?
- Do you sleep like the dead?
- Do you smile when you look in the mirror?
- Are you currently learning something new?
- Do you share your passion with others?
The genuine, peaceful, passionate, confident, giving, well-rested, spontaneous, fun person? That’s who I want to sit next to on this bus.
If you make millions in the process, I won’t blame you. I’ll just be 100x more jealous.
I’ve still got a ways to go in overachieving with these real ideals, but the benchmarks already appear to be a whole lot more sexy.
To think I used to ogle chrome swivel chairs…