I decided to dress up a little for work today. Fitted white shirt with a grey knee-length skirt that rides up just enough when I sit down. Pointy stilettos that go tick-tock-tick-tock as I walk.
Most women I know don’t want to admit this, but they enjoy being treated as sexual objects. Okay, maybe not objects, but if there was ever a being that was ALWAYS aware of its sexuality, it definitely was female.
I like dressing sexy. I wouldn’t be caught dead in ill-fitting-ill-matched clothes. I will willingly be the oddball wearing formals in a super casual environment because I love to stand out from the crowd. Clothes maketh a man (stare). And I like that. Only if the staring is being done by the right type of people, of course; I definitely don’t want rickshawallahs and factory workers to stare. But sure, the bosses and the colleagues, they can look as much as they like. I’m classist that way.
So anyhow. I decided to dress up to work today and people actually smiled at me more. That made my day. And I’m not even wearing yellow.