Musings Of A Sapiosexual

There’s no sexier body part than the brain

Hi, my name is Michelle, and I’m a sapiosexual.

For the uninitiated, a sapiosexual is defined in the Urban Dictionary as “one who finds intelligence to be the most sexually attractive feature”. In other words, I am in awe of what some call “the workings of the universe between our ears”.

Women often cite a great body, kindness or even beautiful eyes as qualities or features they want in a man. Intelligence also (regularly) makes the list, though many can’t quite pinpoint exactly how this manifests itself: Is it the ability to name all the capital cities of the world, or fluency in five different languages? Or the smarts to identify the year of release and the album name of a song playing on the radio?

I prefer to be very specific; more than anything, what excites me is wit. Sadly, the aptitude for it falls under the “Not Inherent In Everyone” category of human capability, along with common sense, empathy
and selflessness.

For me, wit is the Holy Grail of dating; having done that for over 20 years, I can vouch that finding a witty man is like snapping up that classic Céline handbag at a sample sale — it takes patience, indefatigable perseverance and a never-say-never attitude to sift through a mountain of gorgeous yet superficial options before finding The One.

Psychological experts call wit a measure of one’s intelligence, while authors hail it the art of being interesting. I couldn’t agree more. Wit is not to be confused with making corny jokes or smart-ass remarks. Rather, it involves the keen use of language and intelligence to express yourself in a clever, non-conventional way. To me, being witty unleashes what I believe to be the sixth sense — and doing what sight, smell, sound, taste and touch alone are not able to.

Call it a job hazard, but I find something incredibly sexy about a man who has a way with words. Show me a highly articulate man who can nonchalantly sneak double entendres, puns or quips into conversations, or offer lightning-speed rejoinders to create verbal repartee, and I will be silly putty in his hands.

So, yes — I really don’t need six-packs, bulging biceps or buns of steel to be turned on. And while an erotic massage sounds fantastic, I much prefer a clever conversation about why today’s music scene is so superficial that a song about a butt can hit the #1 spot. Give me that, any day.

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