Is a Therapist Allowed to Be Attractive?
Beauty and style in the clinical encounter
By Sarika Persaud
Collage by Austin Hughes
When I was in graduate school for psychology, funds were low. I started picking up other jobs on the side—nannying, tutoring, research assistant work. Ultimately, I had to figure out how to monetize my other main talent: being cool.
I started a side career in fashion, picking up modeling gigs on the weekend and eventually becoming a stylist for a few couture houses. The world of fashion and beauty engaged a totally different part of my mind than my doctoral program did—having to think in meticulous detail about how my face and gaze say exactly what they need to say, learning how to relax fully so I may communicate clearly with my body.
Then, on Monday mornings, I would go to school or my clinical placement, and it felt like a completely different world. Working as a psychologist, I noticed that all of my colleagues seemed cut off from their bodies. Besides often not eating, sleeping, or exercising well (admittedly difficult to do in our line of work), when it came to what they wore, they seemed to have just thrown something on that was “professional.” Their clothing was often ill-fitting, hiding their body, with minimal grooming or makeup, whether they were personally wealthy or on a struggling student salary like me.
Sometimes, while I was sitting with colleagues waiting for a seminar to start, someone might show one or two photos on their phone from special events they attended over the weekend: “I dressed up for the first time in a while!” They looked great in those photos. I wondered why they showed nothing of that side of themselves at work. I was also hiding something: I had no idea how to share the fact that I had 150 photos in my phone from a photoshoot on Saturday. It felt sort of insane to bring up. I didn’t tell any of them about what my weekends were really like, strictly keeping to what it was like writing up the Rorschach reports or neuropsychological assessments.
I have worked with beautiful people over the years, with radiant personalities that were reflected in their smiles and eyes, despite their best efforts to mute their looks. I wondered about my colleagues’ avoidance of their attractiveness when they came to work, and about my own hesitancy to share the other side of my life.
**
Is a therapist allowed to be attractive?
I did an informal study of some of my colleagues. Later-career colleagues laughed and brushed off my questions, saying that beauty or dressing well is only relevant when you are young (an opinion that the writer disagrees with). They said they didn’t think much about what they wore, but that professionalism was important. Early- and mid-career colleagues said they preferred to dress casually, as opposed to wearing suits and tailored dresses like older generations, to “make the patient feel more comfortable.” Some did dress fashionably, but worried that dressing up could intimidate the patient. Others said that fashion and grooming was another stressful thing that they preferred not to think about, reflecting increasing work pressures in the field, even for those in private practice. It was rare that a colleague expressed the belief that wanting to be seen as attractive, or being comfortable expressing themselves through fashion, could communicate the health of the therapist.
Whether therapists claim to think about their appearance or not, the patient almost certainly does. And how this works is inflected by gender. As is well-known in the worlds of fashion and beauty, the feminine body is a powerful trigger of emotion, aggression, desire, and fantasy. Psychoanalytic literature would go further to include somatic memory. One typically first experiences self and other through engaging with the maternal body. Insofar as the therapist (of any gender) performs the maternal function in the therapy—attunement, holding, containment, mirroring—their body becomes the maternal body and is therefore eroticized and highly stimulating to the patient. Unconsciously, the patient is reacting to the movement, texture, tension, gaze, voice, health, and beauty of the therapist’s body perhaps even before first contact. The therapist is already “attractive,” in that their body is already stirring up responses in the patient.
The question, then, is not, “Can the therapist be attractive?” but rather, “How does the therapist utilize and understand their attractiveness in making meaning of the patient’s experience?” How does the therapist become aware of their own unique attractiveness and how aspects of it may be received (their gender, height, body size, body shape, hair or lack thereof, dressing style, skin color, ethnicity, etc.)?
**
Can the therapist see therapeutic value in enjoying their own attractiveness?
Wanting to be attractive can be complicated. In some instances, therapists have had experiences of being taken advantage of or hurt, which they have connected to being perceived as attractive. One creator on TikTok shared, “I have only chosen to work with ugly therapists over the years, because I don’t want to share embarrassing things with a hot person. … Hot people have life easy, and won’t understand how I’ve struggled.” For this person, attractiveness is associated with privilege, a lack of struggle, and empathic limitations.
Being beautiful can feel dangerous. For example, it may provoke a feeling of competition with the patient. Patients may signal that they are threatened by the therapist being more attractive, or wearing expensive clothing and jewelry, and the therapist may find themselves minimizing these attributes in order to quell their own feelings of aggression towards the patient. The therapist may feel uncomfortable about their own attractiveness, because they would have to admit they feel excited and powerful in having more than others.
The feminine therapist may fear the “male gaze” in dressing more attractively, the objectifying effect of being perceived within the patriarchy (especially by a masculine person). Many female colleagues have spoken to me about deliberately not dressing well to come to work, or not wearing make-up, because they are afraid of a male patient pushing a boundary if he finds her attractive. They were also not confident in their abilities to set a boundary, or end a session early, if needed. They felt their attractiveness could be the reason a patient acted out.
Male therapists were also afraid of dressing well, or having an attractive haircut, for fear of being perceived as seducing the patient. Some male therapists had experiences of a patient accusing them of flirting, which felt confusing and disturbing to the therapist.
**
While there is danger in being inappropriate, narcissistically provocative, or overstimulating to the patient, there are a wide variety of ways a person can present themselves before they reach that point, which are still expressive and erotic. It is possible to enjoy being perceived as attractive without using it to fill a narcissistic desire.
Firstly, you should have your erotic needs fulfilled outside of the therapy room to the greatest degree that you can, something it is important to discuss in your personal analysis or supervision, so that you do not try to get personal needs met through the patient.
Secondly, these dynamics can be analyzed in session. Patients will certainly look at us if we are enjoyable to look at. Reducing the meaning of the patient’s erotic gaze to “They want me” or “They think I want them” truncates the vast meanings that an erotic gaze can hold. Ask any talented model, actress, dancer, or sex worker. An erotic gaze can say, “hug me,” “marry me,” “I love looking at you, but it makes me feel inferior,” “I think about running my hands through your hair,” “I want to use you,” “fuck me,” “make love to me,” and much more. Each of these messages, communicated through the way a patient looks at our body and is magnetized by it, tells a different story of what might be unconsciously enacted.
We may think of approaching the male gaze differently—not to evade or counteract it, but to understand it. There is not only one “male gaze.” We seek to understand every expression behind the gaze of men, making meaning of each individual gaze within its context, the transference, and what is being pulled upon from the patient’s history. Naming the watching, objectifying, and surveillance of the feminine body allows it to be worked with in the therapy room, no longer unconsciously acted out in the power dynamic, when present.
One day, a dress I wore to the office evoked opposite reactions. It was a maroon V-neck, sleeveless, fitted, midi-length dress: elegant, tasteful. I was aware that I looked hot. One male patient made a doorknob comment: “You look really good in that dress, by the way. Have fun tonight.” This was a part of a string of comments in the session indicating his curiosity about my private, erotic world. A female patient remarked, “Oh, your dress—it looks really nice. One of my bosses said that if you don’t dress well, men won’t take you seriously at work, especially your boss. I feel bad that you have to wear that. I just wear comfy sweats and sneakers, I don’t care. You should wear more comfy clothes.” The male patient assumes I am on the offensive, that I am getting ready to seduce someone tonight, possibly imagining that it is him. The female patient imagines I am on the defensive, that I am being forced to wear three-inch pumps to prove that I have authority here. In both cases, because I could tolerate the reactions provoked by the dress that looked great on me, important information emerged in the transference that I could use to understand both patients. I am certain that I create enough safety in the relationship that my presence can be erotic, and the patient knows I will never take advantage of them or hurt them.
“The question, then, is not, “Can the therapist be attractive?” but rather, “How does the therapist utilize and understand their attractiveness in making meaning of the patient’s experience?”
**
On social media, you will see abundant mentions of “The Therapist Cardigan” (or shawl), which many people claim that all therapists have (though mostly portrayed on female therapists). It is an amorphous blob of wool or cashmere that obscures the threateningly arousing body of the therapist. It signals that the therapist is cozy, safe, and unerotic. At the same time, therapists are expected to help patients to regain psychological health by engaging with their eroticism and libido.
I would argue that presenting yourself as attractive and at ease with your body may not only be healthy for the therapist, but may attract a different type of patient. In fashion, they say your stylist is your best PR. Having great styling means people get to know who you are immediately upon perceiving you, and it leads you to better opportunities. I wonder if therapists who present themselves as cozy, nonthreatening, and unerotic attract patients who are looking to be coddled. I wonder if therapists who present themselves as stiff and academic attract patients who are looking for an intellectualized treatment. And I wonder if the therapist who presents as their natural, erotic self attracts patients who are “ready to dance.” That is, I suspect that people tend to judge others as attractive when they can tell the other person is confident or at ease with themselves. Perceiving the therapist as at ease with their body and being seen by others could aid in the idealization needed to attach to the therapist and create a positive therapeutic alliance.
On the other hand, a few colleagues told me about patients who were looking to be threatened by a feeling of competition (disruption as the primary object), or were seeking to latch on to an idealized object (in support of the false self), who chose the therapist mostly due to their attractive photograph or self-styling. They would also give effusive compliments on the therapist’s appearance within the first session or quickly start to make demeaning comments about the therapist’s appearance.
Presenting as embodied, erotic, and attractive is not about showing more skin (although, for some, that may be a part of it). When modeling, I had to learn my exact beauty “type” that would fit with the right modeling jobs. I look “classically Indian,” and my features are highly feminine. My face and body do not suit modern, subversive, or androgynous fashion styles. I worked well with artists inspired by Jamini Roy, Abinindranath Tagore, Raja Ravi Varma, and ancient temple art. These are objective facts, much like how one might compile a list of their clinical and research experiences to assess their fit for a job or training program. This knowledge has prepared me to understand that I present myself as highly feminine even at work as a psychologist. When a patient is sitting with me, they are reacting to sitting with a highly feminine and classically Indian woman. Understanding how each patient may be reacting to your individual, unique type of attractiveness may provide a more nuanced understanding of what may be evoked transferentially.
Working in fashion, you develop a way of knowing that you are being perceived as attractive, but then using it as data to further refine what you present to the viewer. When the photographer says, “Yes, that pose is perfect, you look amazing,” you figure out what it is about your posture and body positioning that gave them that reaction, and do more of it. Similarly, in the therapy room, simply enjoying someone flirting with you or being seen as attractive should not be the end point of your observation. What do they like about you, and why? Your strong masculine presence, your clothing that communicates that you make a lot of money, your kind smile. What does this tell you about the patient and what they are missing in their life?
In this sense, there is a way to go to work as a therapist, feel great about how you look, know that you look attractive, express yourself through your clothing and grooming, and also use any reactions provoked by this to help your patients make meaning of their lives.
**
You can’t avoid what you see in the mirror. Physical appearance is one of the most overt and unavoidable ways we come to grips with how we feel about the way we are, or that something needs to change about ourselves. Avoiding thinking about physical appearance creates a false sense of ease. If we avoid this part of our erotic selves as clinicians, we risk becoming blind to this part of the patient’s self. If we think about what needs to change within ourselves to start to want to feel attractive, whether we get attention for it or not, it involves working through anxieties around our desires for love, attention, being admired, and being seen as powerful, and whether or not we are willing to invest time and money into ourselves.
Being attractive is not about meeting an externally determined standard, but knowing yourself. When you wear something that doesn’t suit who you are, no matter how expensive or fashionable it is, people can tell, and it feels uncomfortable.
Being your most natural, erotic self could mean wearing oxford shirts and trousers as much as it could involve miniskirts. Some of my colleagues have that comforting, WASP-y handsome New Englander look, like Paul Newman on his salad dressing bottles. That evokes a different response from a colleague who looks to me like an older woman from a Vermeer painting, a shyly adorable intellectual man, or a cool Brooklyn-type tattooed therapist. Dressing and adorning yourself in a way that makes you feel the most natural and desirable, enjoying your body, is a way to communicate to the patient that you are comfortable with your sexuality and your aggression—the most taboo elements of themselves.
I have noticed some things about colleagues who allow themselves to feel attractive. A contentment radiates from within, along with mischievousness. A person who takes care of themselves can feel very seductive, but can use it towards a goal of love and safety. Sitting with someone who is comfortable in their body can feel nourishing and calming. Knowing what makes you, as a unique person, attractive, can also give you better insight into why patients react to you in particular ways as well. If I decide to apply my eyeliner in a way that makes my eyes look bigger, I have to consider what effect it may have for someone to be looked at by my big, brown eyes.
Cultivating one’s beauty seems to communicate something about one’s relationship with oneself: how one inhabits one’s aged body, how one uses clothing and cosmetics to be even more oneself than one is without it. Such people are alive inside. The pursuit of beauty is not only about an inner state, but how one comes to join self and body. The more fully a therapist inhabits themselves, the more richly the patient's responses to that presence can become material for analytic understanding, rather than something to be minimized or denied.
Sarika Persaud, PsyD, is an attending psychologist and assistant professor at Montefiore-Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York City. Her writing and community work focuses on the intersections of Indian philosophy and psychoanalytic theory. More at drsarikapersaud.com.
Potentially personally identifying information presented that relates directly or indirectly to an individual, or individuals, has been changed to disguise and safeguard the confidentiality, privacy, and data protection rights of those concerned.
Published September 2026