Many of you read my piece, Ten Things I Find Sexy About Men (That Have Nothing to Do With Looks).
One of you wanted to reply. Without further ado, here is a guest piece by my good friend and reader, Jon Mimisy:
“Ten Things I Find Sexy About Women
(That Have Nothing To Do With Looks)”
I love women. I love how they walk, how they smile, how they cross their legs, how they look at you, look away, and then pretend that the whole flirty-eye-contact-you-look-at-me-I-look-at-you thing never happened.
I’m a guy, so, of course, a woman’s looks dominate my oh-so-reptilian brain. But let’s just accept that as a given, and that honest to God, there’s precious little I can do about the fact that I want to jump your bones every waking minute of every day. I’m wired to gratuitously ogle your breasts, to stare at your legs, to love it when you wear a sundress (and to want to take said sundress off with my teeth).
Let’s leave all that to the (back) side, though. Here are ten things totally unrelated to your rockin’ bod that I find sexy as hell:
Yes, I want to get you naked. See above. But you know part of why I want to get you naked? It’s because the clothes you have on right now make you look amazing. Don’t believe me? Well, believe this: If you were wearing parachute pants and a hoodie right now, I wouldn’t want to MC Hammer you.
The clothes make the woman — not just the man. You know what turns me on? When you know that fine line between sexy and scandalous. You know the shade of red that gets my attention. You know the right length of heel. You can dress for the occasion. These things matter — and not just to the other girls glaring at you with envy.
I love a woman who doesn’t expect me to do all the work. Flirting is like tennis; without an adequate partner, I may as well be hitting my balls against a garage door. When you hold eye contact for that extra second, when you match my smile, when you joke about sex, when you do anything that clues me into the fact that, yeah, you’re into this too: that’s downright sexy.
Don’t assume I think intelligence is a turn-off, and don’t act dumb if you’re not. If you went to Hah-vahd, don’t say you went to a little school in Cambridge. For some totally inexplicable reason, women have been led to believe that men want them to be more Mrs. Cleaver than Sheryl Sandberg. Perhaps some do – I don’t.
I. Want. Someone. Smart.
I want someone who reads long books and knows big words. I want someone who speaks multiple languages. I want someone who knows that ‘wherefore’ doesn’t mean ‘where,’ and who can pronounce Ahmadinejad.
If you assume I want someone ditzy, then I’ll go find someone who is actually ditzy. But don’t dumb yourself down in some misguided attempt to make me more attracted to you. Remember, stupid is as stupid does.
7) Allow me to be chivalrous
OK, yeah, you’ve read Lean In. You’re a working girl. I get it. But let me get the damn check. Let me hold the door open. I’m not trying to offend your feminist whatevers; I’m doing the social equivalent of wrapping my arms around you and squeezing you tight.
You don’t know what that feels like yet, but if you don’t allow me to do the chivalry thing from time to time, you never will.
6) Remind me about shit
Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries – assume I will forget them. I’m a guy, and I was born with a gene that, I guess, leads me to think more about creating new memories than remembering past ones. But I have to say: You’re also unreasonably good at remembering everything that happened years and years ago on a given day. You remember fucking everything. And you don’t just remember things: you plan for them. You throw parties. You buy cards. You bake things. You make tote bags. These are things that I would simply never think to do.
So I like it when you remind me that Dan and Amy’s 3.65 month anniversary was yesterday and I forgot to text them about it. It’s not annoying. Okay, maybe it’s a tad annoying. But to be honest, it’s also endearing, especially when you remember things about my friends and family that I didn’t put in my Google calendar. You’re more conscientious than my futile biology will ever let me be, which also happens to make you incredibly hot.
Maybe this makes me an outlier as a man, but I don’t think so. Because when you cry around me, it gives me a chance to do that thing that guys are supposed to do, where they’re all solid and there for you and “it’ll be okay, we’ll get through this” and all the rest.
Tears aren’t scary. If anything, it’s the lack of them that should have me worried. I’d rather have you crying in my presence than crying to someone else in my absence.
4) Laugh at my (bad) jokes
This is also known as “throwing me a bone.” I think I’m funny. My mom thinks I’m funny. My friends find me uproariously funny. It would help if you fit in somewhere on that spectrum, because, well, I’m fucking trying over here. You don’t think this material writes itself, do you?
Don’t fake it, either. That’s the worst. If you don’t find me funny, let’s just go our separate ways and spare ourselves a lifetime of fake-laughing at each other’s jokes about airline peanuts.
3) Be up for anything
Who doesn’t love a girl who will say yes to a gala, or yes to a boxing match, or yes to a bad movie she doesn’t want to see but will see anyway because you want to?
And there’s a difference between being up for it and suffering through it. We can tell the difference. And we appreciate when you suck it up for us (hehe).
2) Stand on her own two feet
Here’s the deal: I’m not a babysitter. Please don’t cling to me when we’re out and about. If you freak because we were at a function and I went to relieve myself and you didn’t know what to do, then Lord help you getting back home, because, honey, I’m probably not going to want to do that anymore, either.
Instead, the truly irresistible thing a woman can do is to spend the entire night charming the room and then come back over to me, kiss me in front of everyone, and say, “So, your place or mine?” Damn. I’ll take you right then and there.
1) Accept me
My relationship with you isn’t going to resemble a Disney movie. I’m loud. I’m sometimes unreliable. I’m forgetful. I throw myself into work and my life and the gym and everything else with unrelenting, unremitting passion. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you and it doesn’t mean I take you for granted. I’m not Prince Charming; more importantly, I’m not supposed to be.
There is no glass slipper and no white horse: this is real life. So please stop imagining it’s supposed to be anything other than my making sure you’re tucked in and the garbage is thrown out after you pass out while watching that episode of the West Wing for the umpteenth time. That’s how I show my affection, dearest.
Disney has been to relationships what the bomb was to Hiroshima. Don’t expect perfection. Because there are also going to be moments that you don’t expect where I knock your socks off — and those will make up for my many, many failings. The absolute sexiest thing you can do is accept me – all of me – and cherish how much I want to get it right, even if sometimes I get it wrong.