I used to love miniskirts. A teacher in high school nicknamed me “Miss Naked” because my uniform skirt always appeared too short on my tall frame. Unlike Katharine Hepburn, a fierce feminist who dared to wear trousers (and my namesake), I championed the skirt. I found it to be far less restrictive than pants.

So, how did I get here? I’m looking in the mirror at what can only be classified as one fuzzy haired lady of flannel. Admittedly, if you are buried in a writing project and don’t leave the house for a few days, things start to grow on you. But my high school self would be shocked to find that I have one pair of heels buried away in my closet, and that my normal dress consists of long black jeans and baggy button-downs.

I want my sexy back.

I remember how I lost it. After college, I moved to New York alone, fueled by delusions of grandeur and a reluctance to grow up. Unfortunately in New York, I received more attention than I ever had in Ohio and that attention was mostly from strange men screaming sexual epithets at me as I walked by. I tried very hard to disguise myself by pulling my hair back, by wearing baggy pants and no makeup, but they always knew I was a woman. They kept cat-calling. I kept my head down and continued to wear my masculine layers; although ineffective, they still felt like physical protection to me.

Fast forward a few more years. My friends and I formed a creative collective and moved into a three-story house in Brooklyn. We were the lost boys, shooting crossbows, camping in the desert, and making films. Covered in mud, we refused to go to bed, spending hours talking on our stoop. They were my brothers and my protectors. Often, I would steal their shirts to feel safe; a piece of them was my amulet.

There’s the part of the story where every Wendy must grow up, although there’s many Peter Pans still left in New York. I never thought it would happen to me, but the world tricks you into wanting things, and I find myself dreaming about what it would feel like to wear a pretty dress again. To ease out of the protective, loose layers and find something glorious that celebrates shape. The shape of me.

That is my sexy point.

What is your sexy point–the point where you feel the most attractive? What do you wear that celebrates the shape of you?

Someday I’ll wear heels.

Photo Credit: Kyle Blair

-Katie