It’s a typical Thursday evening. I shimmy out of sweaty gym clothes and stretch naked before my mirror. For my eyes only, this moment of physical admiration liberates me from the fantasies and projections of another. Soft and feminine, a source of great pleasure and power… practiced reverence gives my body a special language only I can understand, and I honor its messages of PMS bloat and a sore hamstring from that too-hard stint on the treadmill. (Who do I think I am running at sub-7 minute pace?)
I throw on Daniel Caesar’s Freudian and draw a bath with epsom salts and lavender essential oil. Candles are lit. Wine is poured. There was a time when this kind of sultry self-care triggered fantasy, imagining a body behind me in the tub. But I tilt my head back and I think of no one. It feels godly.
Romance is generally discussed in dyadic terms. The just because flowers. An arm around the waist. A table for two with a steep bill. But some of my most romantic experiences are with myself on any old day.
I’ve been in three long relationships. That means a third of my life has been spent attached to another being, giving and receiving various forms of pleasure. For the last 10 months flying happily solo, I’ve learned the importance of cultivating independent sensuality—looking at the ways I behave, present myself, and think—and understanding how it affects my well-being.
My concept of sensuality is broad, which only makes it easier to knead into my routine. Take the aforementioned “typical Thursday” for example. Doing things that feel relaxing or celebratory for no “reason” helps me maintain a high baseline sensuality. Without intention, the humdrum work week drains the sex from my orifices. So I consume aphrodisiacs like dark chocolate and red wine. Make regular time for my v*br*t*r. Craft playlists of Sabrina Claudio and Alina Baraz. Take photos for no one. If I crave a good steak, I don’t even text anyone to go with me; I sit unfazed among a sea of couples and indulge. Sensual behavior requires keen intuition—anticipating and meeting my needs the way a good partner would.
My appetite for all things steamy was precocious, and my self-presentation developed proportionally. I’ve never needed external validation to feel my truest self when I’m embracing my body and showing up in the world on the spicier side. As I watch my aging peers’ aesthetics trickle into modest territory, I feel no compulsion to button up. I like a deep v. A short skirt. A stack of jewelry and keeping my hair long. Red lipstick at the office. What’s “too much” for some isn’t enough for me. When I’m dancing “suggestively” in a bar, the only suggestion I’m making is that you live as vivaciously as I do. Put your self-love in motion and pop that shit like your rent depends on it. Your mind is your home, after all.
Instagram adds a complex layer to modern self-presentation. If you have a vagina, everything you post can and will be held against you in the Court of Attention-Seeking. A strong foundation of independent sensuality makes it easy to ignore the comment section. Instagram allows me to relish moments of sensuality in a creative, accessible way. Last night I posted a mirror selfie to my story in sheer top because I love the top and the way I look in it. I also get paid monthly to shop that brand and share content. Upon posting, I received multiple DMs about my DMs. “You must be blowing up right now.” As an overtly sensual woman, my online presence is going to mirror my IRL presence. While positive reinforcement certainly provides instant gratification, people’s reactions are not a driving force behind my posts, just like they don’t dictate my behavior. Send text.
Cultivating independent sensuality has changed my brain. I used to think experiences in sex and dating were less than if I was alone. I now feel empowered by how little I need from another person to be fulfilled in those areas. I also feel a renewed feminist perspective, seizing the opportunity to correct others for their misplaced judgements, knowing that sensuality doesn’t detract from intelligence or worthiness. It’s a power in and of itself, and weak and dependent are those afraid to tap in solo.
On the rare occasion that I successfully open a pickle jar without help, I might declare myself a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. But since examining my independent sensuality, I realize this sassy colloquialism goes far beyond the fridge. I romanticize me time the same way I used to us time, knowing the other half of us is a mystery I’m in no rush to solve.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all my goddesses of seduction… even if you’re the only ones on the receiving end. xoxo