Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Do not adjust your television set. I am indeed in a bra. Half of you are probably asking why this blog opens with a picture of me in my underwear while the other half is completely unfazed (Hi Mom).

To clarify, this isn’t a Valentine’s Day gimmick. I’m not doing this for attention (Hi to those I know are saying I am!) or to raise the readership of my blog post. If you know me at all, you know what’s up: it’s time for a body positivity post!

There a lot of things I think I am. I think I’m pretty. I think I’m funny. I think I’m kind. I think I’m a writer. I think I’m getting my point across. But one adjective I never use to describe myself is sexy.

I can count on one hand the amount of people I’ve slept with, and it’s not because it just hasn’t happened, but rather, in the words of Cher Horowitz, “You see how picky I am about my shoes, and they only go on my feet.” I cannot talk dirty; I instead seize the opportunity to work on my one liners. I have openly laughed during sex (I’ll leave that up to the imagination). You get the picture. Thus, the word sexy *usually* doesn’t come to mind when I describe myself. Today changed all of that.

You see, I finally decided to break out of my comfort zone and dabble in the exciting world of bralettes. I always thought they wouldn’t fit right or would look weird or they would make me self-conscious. Now, I am a confident gal (see the aforementioned ways I describe myself), but when it comes to underwear, I’ve always been nervous. I tend to stick to sports bras and the traditional Hanes five-pack. Sure, I’ll wear a thong when I haven’t done laundry in two weeks, but I don’t really do anything wild.

Two days ago, I was absolutely exhausted from work, and I went on a Target run for the sheer sake of going to Target, so I was worn down. My friend and I got to the underwear section, and I noticed that Target had plus size bralettes, so I decided it was finally time. Nervously, I clutched several bralettes and made my way to the dressing room. Little did I know, my life would be forever changed.

If you read yesterday’s blog post, you know I always dress up for Valentine’s Day as a reminder that I still, and always will, have it. Today was no exception; however, I decided to throw on one of the bralettes I bought when I was getting ready, and for lack of a better term, hot damn.

For once, I didn’t just feel pretty; I felt sexy. I felt hot. I felt GOOD. This blog post started with me sending a picture to my best friend expressing how good I felt, and it ends with me realizing that being sexy means something different to legitimately everyone (if you don’t believe me, check the Internet). Sometimes it’s finally realizing you do like lacy underwear. Sometimes it’s a good haircut. Sometimes it’s just realizing you can be sexy.

You also get to choose the terms that make you sexy, and it doesn’t have to be anything appearance-wise. You may think your writing makes you sexy. You may think your atheleticism makes you sexy. You may think your cooking makes you sexy. The only things that matter are that you aren’t hurting yourself, hurting someone else, and they are things that make YOU feel sexy. Don’t let anyone tell you what is or isn’t sexy (especially ignorant lingerie companies whose name I’ll keep a Secret). You get to decide for YOU.

Now, go out and strut your thing, you sexy siren. (Even if it means laughing during sex).