BY Lux Alptraum
March 26, 2008
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After reading one too many pieces about sexy sex artists with their sexy sensuality, Molly Crabapple and I decided that we’d had enough.

We are declaring an end to sexy.

Not sexy the concept — we’re certainly not opposed to things that turn us on, that get us off, that rev our engines — but sexy the word. Because, let’s face it: the word sexy is, quite frankly, anything but.

Used to sell anything, it now evokes nothing so much as desserts, aluminum siding and lazy journalists, who use it the way a kid with Tourette’s curses when they have to describe anyone who does anything even mildly related to sex.

We, good reader, are not sexy. Sexy is not smart people writing about sex. Sexy is not smart people making art about sex. Sexy is not anything remotely intelligent: it is boring, played out, lazy — and, quite frankly, we’re tired of it.

Bring on your boinkable, your fuckable, your provocative, even your erotic; bring on your arousing, your alluring — please, anything but sexy.

We’re declaring the death of sexy — and maybe, with the death of sexiness, some of us might actually say something interesting about sex.

[Photo by Sean Bonner]