By Helene Waters

Magazines, television, billboards, clothing shops and movies have spent decades teaching us what “sexy” is supposed to look like.

A beautiful, impossibly polished woman lounging seductively on a bed, wearing approximately three square centimetres of strategically placed fabric.

Or a shirtless man with more ripples across his six-pack than the ocean, casually holding a puppy as though he has just wandered out of a Calvin Klein advert and accidentally found himself at the SPCA.

Apparently, this is sexy.

Except…

Is it?

Because somewhere between the airbrushing, the lighting, the six-pack and the strategically positioned puppy, someone forgot to ask the rest of us what actually gets our attention.

Because I have a confession.

Some of the things I find sexy would make absolutely terrible billboard campaigns.

For example…

Competence.

I know.

Scandalous.

Someone who notices something needs doing and simply does it.

Someone who remembers how you take your coffee.

Someone who has noticed you’ve had a shit day and doesn’t immediately launch into a twelve-point motivational speech about resilience.

Someone who says, “I’ve got it,” and then actually GETS IT!

Apparently, my kink is basic consideration.

Who knew?

And then there’s humour.

Someone who can make me laugh when I’m trying very hard to remain annoyed.

Someone who knows exactly which ridiculous face will crack me.

Someone who can turn an ordinary Tuesday into an inside joke that survives for years.

And then there are the little things.

The things nobody puts in perfume adverts because, frankly, they don’t photograph particularly well.

A cheeky grin.

Not just any grin.

The grin where only you know what it means.

Nobody else in the room has a clue why you’re smiling.

But you do.

And they do.

And suddenly there’s this tiny private conversation happening without either of you saying a word.

That’s sexy.

A glance across a crowded room.

A tiny smile that says I remember.

A look that says Behave.

And the answering look that says:

Absolutely not.

An inside joke that would make everyone else stare blankly at you.

A completely innocent sentence that, because of something that happened earlier, suddenly has an entirely different meaning.

A private nickname.

A hand briefly resting on your back.

Someone catching your eye from across the room and making you smile before you’ve even realised they’ve done it.

None of this requires a six-pack.

There isn’t a puppy in sight.

And nobody needs to lie seductively across a bed in underwear that appears to have been designed by someone who hates fabric.

Because maybe sexy isn’t actually a body.

Maybe sexy is a feeling.

Maybe it’s the feeling of being noticed.

Of being understood.

Of being safe enough to be ridiculous.

Of being wanted without being possessed.

Of knowing someone well enough that one look can say an entire paragraph.

And maybe that’s why the advertising industry’s definition of sexy can sometimes feel so bloody inadequate.

Because an image is just decorative.

Real attraction is a secret language.

A body might catch your eye.

But a person can stay in your head.

A beautiful face might make you look twice.

But someone who makes you laugh until your stomach hurts?

Now we’re talking.

Someone who remembers the tiny things you mentioned three weeks ago.

Someone who notices when your voice changes because you’re upset.

Someone who knows when to reach for your hand and when to give you space.

Someone who makes you feel more like yourself rather than less.

That’s sexy.

And honestly?

Someone who changes the toilet roll without being asked deserves their own bloody billboard.

Maybe with the puppy.

We don’t want to get carried away.

Because perhaps the older we get, the less interested we become in what we’re supposed to find attractive and the more interested we become in what actually makes our stomach flip.

The things that make us grin.

The things that make us feel seen.

The things that make us feel safe enough to be playful.

The things that belong only to the two people involved.

And maybe that’s the sexiest thing of all.

Not everyone needs to understand why you’re smiling.

Sometimes it’s enough that you do.