I would never label myself as confident. I am terminally introverted and have always preferred to observe the goings on around me. I am extremely shy and I am also very insecure - about my personality, my looks, the weird-ass shit I say because of my Asperger's. Thus, when I do have spontaneous moments of confidence there is usually alcohol or a severe lack of sleep involved.
It's sometimes hard for people to believe that I am extremely socially awkward since my career choices clearly suggest otherwise. Being in public relations, especially in the tech industry, means that I have spent more than my fair share of time at huge conventions talking to hundreds of high-level people convincing them I know what I'm talking about. I think of this as being in "work costume" and I'm pretty sure I'm hiding behind the character that I've created. With interior design, I am also fulfilling a purpose. I'm the "designer girl" and I'm there to fix their houses. There is a mutual understanding that I know what I'm talking about and they are honoring me by letting me redesign their space.
However, my work confidence and personal confidence have remained separate. It's unfortunate because I am keenly aware that people have been attracted to me because of my confidence, which, in a twisted sort of Cinderella way, disappears the minute I am off the clock. I've been thinking a lot about what confidence means when it comes to being and/or feeling sexy. I have some very recent experience with my disappearing confidence and I am resolved not to let it happen again.
Over text and email, I am downright saucy and fearless. Who isn't? When it comes to backing up my bravado however, I have a much harder time. It's not that I don't mean the things I write, or that I don't feel the things I say I feel because I do! 100%! However, being shy and lamely insecure, if someone is inspecting my physical self, I immediately turn weird. Although it has been said to us girls many times that men do not see us as we see ourselves, I am convinced that when a man is looking at me, he is categorizing my flaws and will go home and tell his friends how gross I am. This sucks for me and it sucks for the man. My insecurities make it impossible for me to let go and enjoy the moment in its purest form.
Even with my husband, someone who apparently loved me enough to leave his country (England) and all his friends to marry me, there has never been an intimate moment where for at least a fleeting second I didn't try to turn my body another way, position myself "just so" or even find a way to drape something over the parts I hate. It's exhausting. How lame is that?! He has told me many times how pretty I am, sexy, whatever, and still, in my head, I'm sure that he's lying. Maybe I should drink more?
I do know that fully clothed, I have super hot moments. Maybe if lovemaking involved having my clothes on that would be awesome! In business, I was known for wearing ankle-length straight skirts with a slit up the back and either knee-high black leather boots or high heels. I would have on a fitted blazer or long-sleeved button down. It left a lot to the imagination but was just tight enough to show that I have a stupidly large bottom (in my opinion). The boots were very dominatrix/prison guard and the whole ensemble seemed to fulfill the teacher fantasy a lot of guys have. I rocked that look! However, peeling it all off turned me into one of those sobbing, hopeless, annoying women who think no one on earth looks more hideous than they do.
Having recently had a lot of attention paid to me (see post on Tire Guy), and having been told that I was sexy by a random stranger definitely boosted my confidence. For a minute I actually felt like maybe I have something. Maybe I could be someone's fantasy. Mind you, the whole confidence boosting exercise took place via text, but for that short period of time I had a little more sex in my walk, a little more direct eye contact was made, and I had more than one friend tell me, "See?! You have options!"
Upon showing said friends the only remaining photo of "The-thing-that-was-to-become-nothing", every single one said some version of ,"Holy shit he's HOT!" And this made me feel even better about myself, as if having a hot stranger attracted to me made me hot myself.
A while back I was in a fight with my husband and I very inappropriately said, "Well just because you don't want me doesn't mean someone else won't want me!" To which he responded,"Well they don't fucking live with you and all your shit!" He's right. Random hot strangers do not have to file their taxes with me or see me when I wake up and look saggy, squishy and worn out.
A male photographer friend of mine recently encouraged me to take a sexy picture of myself as part of an experiment on how others see me. I agreed. I was allowed to use filters and whatever else kind of witchcraft and trickery I could employ to get an image I actually thought was kinda hot. The resulting image was a black and white taken in front of my bedroom mirror in which I'm wearing black lingerie and my tattoos are looking very unexpectedly great. I sent him the photo. He printed it out and went on a little adventure around Boston showing the photo to random younger guys asking (and recording) what they thought. Not a single one said, "Wow, she's really plus size!" or "I can tell that her boobs hit the floor without a bra."
I'm not sure what I was expecting and of course it was an exercise in complete vanity. Since I spend most of my life being the opposite of vain, I embraced the opportunity to feel conceit. I now know that if I am ever wandering around downtown Boston in all my Instagram-black-and-white-glory posed sideways in black lingerie, more than a few guys would take me home for the night. That feels kinda good.
I will be the first to admit that my self-worth is intricately tied to what others feel about me. Especially the people I care about. I don't give a shit how self-defeating, unpopular, or anti-feminist that is. It's how I feel. If the person I'm with doesn't tell me I'm pretty, then I am definitely not pretty. The irony is that when my girlfriends tell me I'm pretty, I am thankful for the compliments but it does absolutely nothing to change how shitty I feel about myself. That's sad. In my head I think, "Well that's nice but you aren't going to fuck me." It is what it is.
Back to Tire Guy for a minute. He has said he found my directness and confidence to be "totally hot". Yeah, the directness that comes from having Asperger's and the manufactured text confidence were definitely good, but then, the real Melisa kicked in. I got insecure. I asked if he really thought I was sexy. His response was wise beyond his years and it was, in my opinion, the lesson I was supposed to have learned from that whole experience.
He said, "Yes, but why do you need reassurance? That's not sexy at all."
Wow.
Onward...
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