I am a married heterosexual male who finds women, all other things being equal, far sexier when they wear nice business attire. I will endeavor to explain why this might be so.
Growing up, most of my friends adopted a “casual look.” Think of a generally less-than-affluent crowd of 1980’s stoners. All my girlfriends, and the majority of the girls I wished were my girlfriends, tended to wear ripped up blue jeans and concert tee-shirts. I can think of exceptions to this, but these exceptions are rare. Almost all the romantic entanglements of my adolescence began at some party in somebody’s smoky basement or at the house of some female friend or friend-of-a-friend where the dress code was decidedly casual. Such was the environment where I learned about love and lust and all the rest.
Eventually I met a woman who became a friend, then a lover, and then a wife. When I first met her, she was wearing faded, ripped up jeans, a tattered Guns-N-Roses tee-shirt that was a bit large for her and which she often slept in, and her hair was a terrible mess (she had just gotten out of bed to meet this strange guy who was in her living room—long story). This, I would learn, was the future **Mrs. Gil-Martin **in her natural state, and this is fine for it’s not so different from **Mr. Gil-Martin’s **natural state. Although today I am generally “well dressed” and often get complimented on how “professional” I look, my appearance is largely due to my so-called career. For much of my life I’ve had hair half-way down my back, I don’t see the need to shave every day, and on the weekends you’d probably encounter me in faded blue jeans, old tennis shoes, and a shirt that didn’t quite manage to get tucked in.
Anyway, most of the women in my life, from my teenage girlfriends up to my present significant other (with whom I’ve been married for twenty years) have generally been attired in inexpensive casual clothing. This is not to say that they haven’t looked “nice”—skirts and sweaters and whatnot—but few of these women were “dressed for the office.” Dressed for the party, dressed for school, even dressed for church, yeah, sometimes, but not for the office or any other professional venue. The exception to this is my wife, who sometimes looks “professional” or even elegant, but I know this isn’t the real her. The elegant and stylish **Mrs. Gil-Martin **is as much a façade as the sharp and professional Mr. Gil-Martin, and I think we’re both okay with this. People fall in love with their own kind, I suppose.
Yet, when I fantasize about other women (usually not real women, but mental creations of mine), or find the media presenting me with a woman I deem “hot,” this woman will probably look sharp, professional, and businesslike . . . on occasion, even severe in some way. Searching my memory for sexy women that fit this mold, I keep going back to “Heather,” a young woman who sat next to me in a college classroom one semester and that I interacted with from time to time over the rest of my undergraduate years. Heather, quite simply, is the hottest, sexiest, most stunningly gorgeous person of the female persuasion ever set upon this planet to tempt the fidelity of married man. Oh my God. And even better–or worse–for some reason she expressed an interest in me, which I of course allowed to develop into nothing because of my then-recent wedding vows. Anyway, in addition to her absolutely perfect body, Heather was also extremely well put-together, in a sharp, professional, businesslike, and perhaps severe sort of way. She believed in dressing for her next job, and her next job had something to do with the media and/or the Fortune 500 executive suite (I believe she’s now successfully working in the world of public relations and making zillions of dollars). Anyway, I could have had quite the affair with this drop-dead gorgeous woman who wore things that none of my “other women” would normally wear, but I didn’t. Instead I enjoyed my infatuation for what it was and occasionally mused about the possibility of what could be/could have been.
In any case, I think what I felt for Heather–definitely lust, a certain aesthetic appreciation for her well-crafted ensemble, as well as an admiration for some of her non-physical qualities–may have somehow been mentally transferred by me to the type of clothing she wore, and I now sometimes (often) associate sexiness with these sorts of clothes. As I type these paragraphs about Heather, I now begin to wonder if I now possess some sort of rudimentary fancy-sharp business attire paraphilia. Certainly it seems like a case of the (relatively) exotic (to me) becoming the (relatively) erotic (to me). I can say this: the sexy executive businesswoman in high-end designer clothing will likely catch my eye and move me to a sexual fantasy as readily, or even more readily, than any slattern porn star. And speaking of porn, on the rare occasions I watch the stuff (no, really), it’s much better if it starts out with some well-dressed office people than, say, a casually dressed woman trying to get a discount with the mechanic or pizza delivery guy.
You know, when I started typing my response to this thread, I thought it was going to be one or two sentences long. Instead, it became a weird rambling confessional post that should probably just be deleted. But for some reason I took the time to write it, so I may as well hit the Submit Reply button. I’ll try not to do it again.
The good news is that I have new fodder for therapy.
I’ve never really thought much about the contents of this post before.
Have a nice day.
(And I really am normal. Really.)