It all started with a thud in my mailbox — so loud I half expected Amazon had delivered a refrigerator. My dogs barked on cue, which meant I had to do my human trick of fetching the mail. Buried in the pile of catalogs and pre-approved credit card offers was AARP Magazine, featuring none other than Rod Stewart on the cover. 

His trademark feathered hair was still perfectly coiffed, with a headline blaring: “Rod Stewart: Do Ya (Still) Think I’m Sexy? (Yep.)” I grinned the same way I did when Rod’s raspy voice came on my oldies station recently singing “Maggie May.” Fun fact: that song was inspired by Rod losing his virginity at 16 in a tent at a music festival. 

But enough about teenage rites of passage — back to AARP.

That cover got me thinking about how we can divide sexiness into two main categories: Younger Sexy and Older Sexy. Younger Sexy is obvious —unvarnished beauty and fully functional body parts. But it also comes with a lot of heavy lifting. I shudder every time I imagine trying to pull it off in today’s social media glare. Posing for Instagram. Vying for “likes.” Being ruled by algorithms. Exhausting.

Rod’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” came out long before the internet. It soared to No. 1 at the height of the disco craze in 1978. At the time, I was in my early 20s, failing miserably at the traditional marketplace version of Younger Sexy. While other women played the game, I opted out — and lo and behold, I met a guy who found my unconventional outlook sexy. Who knew?

Which brings me to the topic of Older Sexy. Some young people (my late husband, Fred, among them) can set aside their raging hormones to appreciate what many of us discover only with time: sexiness is less about a flawless body and more about the spark that radiates from within. It’s a well-timed wink. A playful comeback. The kind of confidence that comes from knowing ourselves — wrinkles, laugh lines, and all.

We still want to look good, but on our own terms. I dress up to walk my dogs because I never know who I’ll meet. The other day, I ran into the hunkiest male ever. He leaned into me like he’d found his soulmate and couldn’t let go. Maybe my sparkly necklace and the Hawaiian flower in my hair bewitched him. No one has ever panted for me the way Doolin, the Bernese Mountain Dog, did. 

Now for the downside of Older Sexy. Yes, those aging body parts (no need to get anatomical here). I compare myself to an old jukebox. Some of my buttons stick, but others? They play better than ever. Younger me never thought of my neck, inner arms, and lower back as erogenous zones. But now? They’re my favorite buttons to push. They’re my power grid. They’re part of what keeps me glowing. That, to me, is sexy. 

Rod, too, is a survivor. You don’t get to be 80 years old like him without getting caught up in the meatgrinder of life. Critics chastised him for betraying his rock and blues roots with the disco-flavored, heavily produced “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” The “I” in the song? He’s a character, Rod says — not himself. His collaborator modeled him on the coked-up lounge lizards of the day. Whether audiences interpreted the narrator’s sweaty come-on as realistic or parody, they found it fun, and the song soared to No. 1.

Then, in his mid-50s, Rod got thyroid cancer and needed surgery on his precious throat. He lost the ability to sing. Only after nine months of rehab did he regain it. Now talk about sexy!

Sexiness is the opposite of laziness. Rod works with a personal trainer to keep in shape for his Las Vegas residency. His setlist includes — you guessed it —”Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” The song has gone from scandal to classic.

So, Rod, thank you for tossing that cheeky question into the cultural jukebox all those years ago. The disco ball has dimmed, but the real sparkle — the kind that comes from humor, resilience, and a willingness to strut our stuff whether we’re in sequins or sweatpants — still shines.

As for me, I’m not waiting around for outside validation. Do I think I’m sexy? You bet. On bad hair days, on dog-walk days, even on pajamas-till-noon days. Because the sexiest thing of all might just be this: knowing we’re still in the game, still humming along like an old jukebox with a few sticky buttons, and still daring to dance when the music plays.

Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter and check out music videos, song lyrics, and fun facts at www.joanaxelrodcontrada.com.