Sexy is a state of mind.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: Any woman can get laid. It takes neither effort, nor imagination. When I was living in Boston, I conducted a test to prove this point. Bear in mind that I am not some gorgeous specimen of a woman. But I walked up to ten men in a bar and asked if they'd come home with me for sex. Eight said yes. One was gay.

As easy as it is for women to get sex, being sexy is an entirely different matter. The sorrority girls of today will become the wrinkled, haggard ladies of tomorrow; the women who, at 40 years old, still wear midriff-bearing halter tops. The 21-year-old princesses who think they can demand the world of any man because they're young and nubile will get married and stop putting out by age thirty-five. The 20-somethings who drink too much and give too much head are not sexy. The vapid women at clubs are not sexy; they're merely scantily clad.

Sexy is a state of mind. Sexy is about confidence. Sexy is about discovering a man's fantasy woman and becoming it. It doesn't matter what you look like. Seriously. It just takes creativity, spontenaity, and the willingness to try anything. As I said above, I am not a beautiful woman; I am marginally attractive. I don't have a great body, but I know how to accentuate the good and eliminate the bad. Yet even being of average looks and body type, I've had beautiful men eating out of the palm of my hand.

Why? Because, once again (say it with me): Sexy is a state of mind.

The beautiful, olive-complected Italian Catholic boy who'd gone to a Catholic high school? I merely pranced into class wearing a plaid skirt, white thigh highs, black Mary Janes, and a tight, low cut sweater. He ended up dropping by later that night because he was "in the area."

The somewhat older BMW-driving yuppie financial advisor? I gave him a call after work telling him I'd help him with some secretarial/administrative matters. I dropped by, purportedly coming straight from work, wearing a suit, hair in a bun, three inch heels, black framed glasses on. I wore nothing else but stockings and garters. The dictation didn't last long.

And the traditionalist? For those folks, nothing works better than throwing on a corset, stockings (fishnet or otherwise), and ridiculously high heels (I own both four and six inch) or boots. Add a trench coat, drive over, and you're good to go.

My point? From what I've discovered (both from personal experience and from talking to my male friend), class is superior to cheap clothing and drunkeness. Stockings and heels are staples. Lowered inhibitions help. And the ability to use language to flirt and persuade and present innuendo -- WITHOUT being cheesy, sleazy, or cheap -- is essential.

So ladies, stop killing yourself trying to get the killer body. Don't beat yourself up because you're not one of the Beautiful People. Just internalize your own sexiness. Believe it and own it, and you'll never fail in getting whomever it is you desire.