self sexualize or die

The vulnerability of not realizing the world sees girls as sexual beings first

Flirting is a highly complicated language for me. Somewhat because of my lack of experience but primarily because of the fact that it’s supposed to be obvious while maintaining plausible deniability, a contradiction I’ve been unable to compute. Despite this, I have somehow found myself in scenarios where I was accused of flirting, info that was always news to me.

But usually when I figure out a man thinks I’ve been flirting with him I find it easier to play along. I give an airy laugh and a “you caught me!” Further the interaction in a way that it really didn’t need to be. The man might’ve been joking but my brain already made the calculation that being something he wanted was the easiest course of action.

It makes me think of all the other times I’ve sexualized myself, even when it wasn’t necessary, even when the attention made me uncomfortable. It all came from a place of being on guard. I knew that yes, my sexuality had the capacity to help me, but it could just as easily harm me. The best way to keep myself safe was to make myself sexual before any man had the chance to do it to me first. I thought it granted me some power, like if I start the car then I can decide where it goes.

I first developed this philosophy as a young teen when my mother would tell me to change into something “more appropriate” before our older male guests came over. It was then that I realized I had made an error. I’d forgotten that at the forefront of my being was my sexuality. My female anatomy’s ability to elicit sexual desire has to be my primary concern, lest I be punished for being a slut before I had the chance to realize where the accusation came from.

It’s a completely backwards way of thinking. My braless boobs are not enticing to me. They’re just there, doing nothing but being profoundly boring. But if my male guest saw them he’d gawk, so now I must look at my body like I’m attracted to myself, then work backwards to prevent that response. Its exhausting mental gymnastics.

In the flirting case I go in the opposite direction. I recognize myself as first sexual then I lean into it. I let it be there so that it can’t surprise me later. This is the force behind some women’s act of self-sexualization. You call them a slut before realizing they beat you to the punch.

The little man in my brain told me my body was a sex object before anything else. I can’t kill him because–at least partially–he’s right. There’s a real threat that I have to know about. Where he went wrong was thinking that leaning into or away from sex appeal was going to fix anything. It can’t when the problem is not the fact that he’s in my brain, but the fact that he’s in men’s.