PRIYA: On Sensuality and Reconnecting with our Bodies

Interview by Maya Davila

Texas-raised and New York-made, Priya returns from our debut issue ‘ORIGINS.’ A real-life siren, her energy is dark, hypnotic, and devoted to desire. Let’s talk sensuality as ritual and self-worship. 

Some women enter a room and leave unnoticed, and there are women whose presence lingers long after they are gone; Priya belongs to the second category.

“Sensuality to me means the relationship I have with myself and how I feel in my body,” she says. “There are days when I feel more playful, and that naturally shows up in my sexuality. Other days, I feel more bossy and dominant, and that comes out too.” Sensuality is not a performance, nor is it something a woman does to be consumed or edited down to be palatable. 

“I don’t believe in faking it and putting on a show to be sexy for other people,” she adds. “It’s a deep and sacred relationship you have with yourself. When you’re connected to that, you pull from that inner pool of sensuality and project it outward.”

For her feature shoot, she stepped into a vampiric world of dark fabrics, corsetry, leather, and a candlelit ambience.

“I personally feel really sexy when I’m draped in darker fabrics,” she says. “Sensual lace, corsets, and beautiful jewelry adorning my body, especially in a dimly lit setting. That’s when I feel closest to my inner seductress.” The shoot did not ask her to become someone else, but rather revealed her true nature. It “embodied who I am sensually and how I’m connected to my body and to myself,” she says. “It made me feel very strong, desirable, and fully in my power as a woman.”

Her confidence did not appear overnight. Growing up, she recalls being drawn to feminine archetypes who were powerful, mysterious, and a little intimidating. Most notably, Samus from Super Smash Bros. really fascinated her.

Growing up in Nepal, she was teased for her bright, green eyes. Other kids called them “snake eyes,” but rather than shrinking from it, Priya leaned in and embraced what made her stand out. “I would stare at people really intensely and tell them I was a snake, and it actually made the other kids a little scared of me which, strangely enough, I loved. Looking back, I think that was one of my first experiences realizing the power in my presence and energy,” she says.

As she got older, that relationship with sensuality became more intentional. She began to understand the kind of woman she liked embodying: the enchantress, the femme fatale, the woman who is mesmerizing because she exudes an intimidating energy that is just impossible to turn away from. Underneath this mystery is the philosophy that a woman’s body belongs to her before it belongs to anyone else’s fantasy. And that, she believes, is something women are rarely taught.

“Our sexuality is repressed before we even understand it,” Priya says. “Our bodies are shamed before we can even comprehend what’s going on.”

Women are taught modesty before pleasure, how to be wanted before we’re taught how to want. Our bodies become something to manage, hide, perfect, shape, shrink, discipline…but rarely something to explore. That disconnect does not disappear with age. It follows women into dating, sex, and the treatment they accept.

“As women, our sexuality is packaged to be performative,” she says. “Society conditions us to think that men are the ones who have actual desire, and we’re just here performing as someone sexy.” That performance can appear in many forms: wondering whether he likes you before asking yourself whether you even like him, accepting attention just to feel desired, or even letting porn teach you what pleasure is supposed to look like. Priya wants women to interrupt that script.

“I would love to see more separation from the male gaze regarding a woman’s sensuality,” she says. In other words: stop outsourcing your desire. Ask yourself what you like, what makes you feel powerful. What makes you feel beautiful when no one is watching?  “I think sexuality is very much like fashion,” Priya remarks. “What works for you? Who are you? What do you like to embody?”

Her own sensuality carries a dark intensity. Astrologically, she’s water-heavy, with Scorpio, Pisces, and Cancer placements in her chart. “I feel like I move through the world very fluidly, almost like water,” Priya describes her energy. That fluidity is what makes her sensuality feel innate. She’s devoted to the relationship she has with herself.

Talent: @feverdreamgal 

Creative Director/Producer/Interviewer/Prop Stylist: @maya.davila 

Photographer: @kiss2urlips 

Photo Assistant: @lambertlau.photo 

Stylist/Producer/Hair Artist: @yishaliii_ 

Makeup Artist: @g.shi_7 

Videographer: @pepperlovve

BTS Socials Assistant: @phoebefusco

Graphic Designer: @maya.davila

“When you are so in tune with your sensuality, it’s such a sacred relationship you have with yourself. Once you welcome somebody else into that world, you would expect nothing short of devotion.” When sensuality becomes sacred, access becomes selective; you stop accepting the bare minimum and scraps of attention as proof of worth. Stop confusing being sexualized with being seen; devotion is not about begging someone to worship you. 

Priya believes women need rituals to return to our bodies, small ways of building intimacy within ourselves before seeking it from anyone else. “That means creating moments of romance and care for myself,” she says. “Lighting candles, taking baths, using perfume oils, oiling my hair, and taking time to get ready in a way that makes me feel beautiful. It’s about building intimacy with myself, both emotionally and physically, and allowing myself to feel comfortable, confident, and present in my own body.” 

Look at yourself with curiosity, with care, with love. Look long enough to stop being a stranger to your own body. In her words, “Admire your body and unlearn shame.”

For women who feel disconnected from their bodies, Priya encourages something direct: dance naked in front of your mirror, play music, touch your skin, and learn what you look like when you feel alive. It does not have to be sexual. It almost sounds too easy, but maybe that’s because shame teaches women that loving their bodies must be complicated. That same logic applies to desire.

Women are often taught to treat pleasure as something that happens to them, rather than something they actively participate in. Priya wants women to know themselves well enough to name what they want. “What do you like sexually?” she asks. “What makes you feel good? Having that connection with yourself is very important.”

She is equally critical of the language surrounding sex, especially when it’s derived from porn or casual misogyny. These words shape how we view ourselves and our bodies from a young age. “I’m constantly checking myself,” Priya says. “The way we talk about things like body count, or calling women a hoe or a slut in a negative way. There’s so many things in our day-to-day vocabulary that are so normalized, especially the way women are described when they’re sexually active.”

Even phrases that seem normal can quietly reinforce the idea that sex is something done to women, rather than something that 2 people share, like “Smash, fuck, kill, destroy. It’s become so natural to be like, ‘Yeah, he fucked me.’ Like, no, y’all had sex! It wasn’t just one person doing something.” Because if women are going to reclaim sensuality, they must reclaim authorship, not just of their bodies, but of the stories surrounding them.

That means rejecting the idea that periods are dirty, that mothers can’t be sexy, that sexual women are less respectable, that marriage and children are the only milestones worth celebrating, and that being desired by a man is the main event of a woman’s life. “I think that girls are groomed from a young age to romanticize marriage and partnership; this directly translates into adulthood, and they see through rose colored lenses. Women fall in love with the idea of love not their partners.” Priya is also very clear that she does not want children, and even more adamant that she’s tired of women being told they will change their minds. “Why are women not taken seriously?” she says. “I’m fully independent. I live my life alone. I make judgments on every other aspect of my life, so why do you think I’m incapable?”

It’s all connected. For Priya, sensuality is not separate from autonomy, neither is desire from choice. The same woman who chooses how she dresses, moves, dates, dances, has sex, rests, works, and loves should also be trusted when she says what kind of life she wants. “Women are rewriting history,” she says. “I love being a woman.” That rewriting is happening in bedrooms, group chats, bathrooms, and dance floors. It happens when young women celebrate friendships, being single, careers, getting an apartment, nights out, new jobs, and new selves. It happens when women make milestones out of freedom.

For Priya, New York nightlife has played its own role in that freedom. Her go-to spot is Basement, a club she loves because it allows people to just show up as their truest selves. “What really attracts me to that space is that everyone is just fucking weird. And I love that.”

Compared to the more curated parts of Manhattan nightlife, Basement feels less obsessed with being seen in the ‘right’ way. People dance and dress how they want, and surrender to the music. “Everyone’s just showing up however the fuck they want. The authenticity is really refreshing. It’s a very safe place with no judgment.” Nightlife taught her something else too: audacity.

“Closed mouths don’t get fed. As women, we’re often socialized to be docile, to just be grateful to be included, and to avoid asking for more. But in reality, you can ask for almost anything.” Ask for access. Ask for pleasure. Ask for better. Ask for the life that actually turns you on. Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes the answer redirects you. Either way, Priya believes there is power in no longer waiting quietly for permission.

That may be the most captivating part of her sensuality: it’s about being the most awake inside your own body. Find your own language, your own version of what it means to be sexy. The point is not to be easily understood. Sensuality is something you own, and once she knows that, no one gets to decide what you are worth.