How is it that a man who was purportedly 5’3” tall, wore eyeliner, had a bird chest and a narrow ass, and sang mostly in falsetto was one of the sexiest men on the planet? I mean, think about it. If a dude walked up to me who was barely my height, IN HEELS, and was wearing some crazy looking outfit consisting of tight bellbottoms and an open blouse, and his hair was laid better than mine, I would be laughing before he could get out, “Hi. How are you?” He would’ve been totally dissed. But if he caught me on a day that I was trying to be nice and secure my place in heaven, maybe I would’ve overlooked the eyeliner and earrings and given dude a chance. Naw! Who am I kidding? There is no way in hell that I would’ve ever given that dude the time of day. But if that dude were Prince, I would’ve been tripping over myself to talk to him and would’ve been completely tongue tied if he had even looked my way. That makes no damn sense on the surface and it makes me wonder what made Prince so damn sexy?
My reasonable and logical mind says there is nothing sexy about this guy.
Ain’t no way that I would’ve ever been caught with this guy if he wasn’t Prince.
I was always drawn to his eyes. If you looked past the eyeliner and really looked into his eyes, his playful yet intense soul seemed to lure you in with a force more powerful that the gravitational pull. While that was quite attractive, it certainly wasn’t enough on its own to qualify as sexy.
But I digress.
I think, for me, it really boiled down to his extreme level of confidence that made him sexy in a way that no other man will ever be able to replicate. His confidence was in his high heeled strut, in the cut of his eye, in flick of his wrist. It was inextricably woven through every pop-soul-jazz-funk-blues concoction that he ever released. It was there in his quiet and soft, yet deep speaking voice that commanded you to lean in and pay attention.
Yep, it was his confidence that did it for me. And those eyes.