I recently listened to an interview about a new play called Sexy at the Camden People's Theatre. It's about a young woman who loves poetry, takes on the patriarchy and explores the question of sexiness. 

Oi, you. Sentient flesh owner.
I have some questions for you.
Do you think you’re sexy?
What do you find sexy?
What does sexy even mean?

I found it an interesting subject to understand not least because just the other week my friends and I were discussing this very topic at dinner. More specifically, we talked about pole dancing, which is traditionally assumed to be the dance of sexual arousal. Yet these days pole dancing has become a hot fitness trend, which is as physically demanding and effective as gymnastics. In fact, international pole dancing championships take place in London every year, and top performance is judged on composition, execution and technical challenge, not sexiness. Pole dancing may still be sexy, but others may watch Olympic weightlifting and find it arousing instead. 

What do we mean by sexy? I suppose we mean a concoction of attraction and desire. It's a feeling or an impulse we cannot quite control. But an impulse isn't quite right here: you and I may list Idris Elba and Scarlet Johansson as actors we find sexy but it is equally possible to refer to more abstract terms which have the same effect: smell of perfume, dimples, hats...  I asked my friends on Facebook to give me some examples of what turns them on. Here are some of their brilliantly versatile answers.

Women confessed that they are attracted by intellect, generosity and kindness.  They find it sexy when men show utmost dedication to their calling and are good at what they do. One friend of mine pointed out confidence as the key factor; another wrote about persistence and even impudence. Women who focussed on the physical characteristics drew a portrait of a tall, broad-shouldered man with "teeth(!), sensual lips and captivating eyes". 

One man told me he was turned on by "a sparkle in the eyes, a straight back, a long, thin neck, full lips, feline flexibility, long legs with a round bum and a woman's ability to walk so as to showcase the said bum." Other men highlighted a smile, breasts, a nice arse, elegance, femininity, tomboy features, curves, shyness and confidence. It became pretty clear to me what the French had figured out a long time ago: sexiness is je ne sais quoi. Every person has a mystery trigger under her skin which will be gently touched or pressed with greater assertion one moment in time. And in that moment other things - height, shape, even teeth(!) - will fade in the background of the state of arousal.

With this in mind, online dating doesn't stand a chance. The statistics of successful relationships may prove otherwise, but how can a radiant smile or a deep, yet tender voice compare with a bunch of carefully curated photos on a smartphone screen? I might be turned on by musky eau de cologne or quiet confidence, but the right balance of sexiness is so delicate that one drop too many may result in revulsion not attraction.  Intimacy is impossible without that je ne sais quoi, yet dates arranged online have more in common with job interviews than romance. Recently I had dinner with a guy who ticked all the boxes (including the musky eau de cologne) but there wasn't a hint of chemistry which had got under my skin. 

The most interesting aspect of this sultry matter is whether we feel sexy about ourselves. A few people mentioned confidence, sparkling eyes and smiles to me. It is true: it's not about one's bum or shoulders. No one craves intimacy with an angry, gloomy or a talentless person. So let's stop worrying about our shapes, sizes and teeth and instead let's pursue our passions, develop our talents and do what we love. Let's smile because spring is finally here and savour little pleasures in life. Let's ignite sparkles in the eyes of people around us - and I don't just mean those yellow-faced emojis with red hearts. 

I used to think that bravery is the privilege of the young. I remember when I was about six years old, I climbed onto a stage of a summer festival and sang a song in front of a large adult audience, completely oblivious to its size or the fact that I couldn't sing. I was about eleven when my parents took me skiing to a resort in the Russian Caucasus. It was just after the collapse of the Soviet Union: the slopes weren’t being cleaned properly and we had to pay in cash every time we used the ski lift. Every day we heard reports of avalanches and got caught once ourselves. My parents were worried sick and regretted going to the Caucasus, but I loved every minute of our adventure. I was fearless but it’s not the same as being brave.
 
Years passed and I began to ski carefully, enjoying tricky slopes but always controlling my speed. I wasn’t tempted by adventure in my day-to-day life either, choosing a large company to work for after university. Perhaps, like many other Russians who lived through the turbulent 1990s, I favoured stability over adventure. I couldn’t understand entrepreneurs. They seemed to be cut from a different cloth: thriving on taking risks and resilient to failures. I thought the same about athletes, musicians and writers who had dared to challenge themselves and the world.
 
It was 2008 when I went to watch the London marathon: a friend of mine was running  it, and I wanted to cheer him on. My mum was visiting me at the time and I dragged us both to the 30km mark by Southwark Bridge. It was raining, which only exacerbated the horrible spectacle in front of our eyes: exhausted runners displayed every shade of pain. Neither I, nor my mum could understand why those people tortured themselves so much. And then my friend Sam ran by. He struggled, but he ran on. At that time I was already fond of running but I hadn’t done a race longer than a 10K. Standing there in the rain, I looked at the runners: young, old, male and female, fit and overweight and thought to myself: “If they can do it, maybe so can I.” 
 
A year later I ran my first marathon. After all the months of preparation, the race itself didn’t seem a big deal. It was hard, really hard, but it didn’t feel like a feat of courage - only an achievement of consistent training. At that same time I left my well-paid job to go travelling around the world. That didn’t appear to be a brave act either, only a well-deserved career break and a chance to see some places I’d been dreaming about. 
 
I am still in awe of entrepreneurs, but it’s not their courage that stands out for me. Rather, it’s their passion, perseverance and confidence. In fact, I believe that in order to start your own business, you just have to be a little naive, very determined and be prepared to hassle. 
 
A month ago I came to the Ladies’ Ponds in Hampstead. Someone recommended me to bathe in cold water to boost my immune system. The temperature of the water was just +4C. Insanely brave women calmly entered the water, swam and came out, looking pink and happy. One lady told me she had been swimming in the ponds almost every day for the past ten years. Another advised me how to get in (slowly). “You aren’t born fit”, I told myself that day. I swam there several times since, gradually staying a little longer and relishing the energy boost after every dip. (The water has warmed up to +8C now, so it got a bit easier.)
 
To do something brave, you don’t need to be fearless. A person on the bus standing up to a xenophobic bully is as afraid as anyone else. A battered woman eventually gathers strength to leave her husband because she is scared to death. Only afterwards we think of these people as courageous. You only need to think of others who have already quit smoking, started their own business or dipped into cold water. If they did it, so can you.

You aren't born brave - you become brave.