New York is sexy. Women hint at their form with loose, gauzy T-shirts and unbinding bralettes, not suffocating tanks and pushup lingerie. Sundresses graze calves instead of thighs and slips are forsaken in exchange for comfort. When commuting comfortably is a priority and workwear often becomes nightwear style can not be a burden. It's an effortless sexy, a too cool for the male gaze sexy—something I can get behind. When you put down another person's definition of sexy, clothing options expand and things get interesting.
I gave up cleavage-baring tanks and cheek-grazing shorts when I decided confidence was my decision and was not contingent on the compliments of others. I think this decision came shortly after I traded in my long locks for a boyish cut. Coincidentally the boys found their own "do" unappealing on the opposite sex. It may have whittled down the number of free drinks I got, but it certainly expanded my wardrobe choices and increased the number of compliments I got in public restrooms. Without a motivation to inspire desire I found a new look, an effortlessly "cool" look, a buttoned-up, sometimes androgynous, figure-swallowing look.
There is nothing more commanding than an outfit stolen from the guys. Every woman needs an oversized white button-up and slouchy trousers to mix and match with leather leggings and a cropped sweater respectively. I paired my relaxed button-up with sleek black jeans and a bold lip—my kind of sexy. I resisted the urge to button up all the way to my throat in order to show off my dainty flea market necklace find.