“You are an unbelievably sexy woman.”

“No, no, I’m not.”

“You are.”Woman wearing scarf close up

“I’m not.”

“Why are you arguing?”

“Because I promise you, I am not. I know myself, and sexy is not in my wheelhouse.”

“You don’t know yourself then.”

“Listen. My entire life, this has always been true: in a room filled with women, or even just on a list of us, I am the girl the men want to have a conversation with. The girl they might want to introduce to their sisters. Perhaps the girl they would take home to mom. Maybe even the girl with whom they can envision a degree of emotional intimacy. But I am not the girl they want to have sex with.”

“They just don’t tell you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you. You’re intimidating as hell.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s much easier for us to approach a woman with much less to offer because there is less on the line.”

“So I’m not approachable?”

“You are approachable. It’s not your fault we’re afraid.”

“What do I do with this?”

“Just know it.”

“More girls need to hear this.”

“Then you should tell them.”

And so, here it is. An open letter to the strong, confident woman who spends her evenings alone: You might not know you’re sexy.

But chances are good, very good, and I’m telling you as I am learning this, that you are indeed considered among the sexy.

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