Please Don’t Perceive Me! Fighting The Male Gaze
By Sexpress Editor Sofia Tinne
I am genuinely convinced. That men think women have been put on this planet to please them. Convinced. I am so exhausted, and I know what you’re going to say, “But Sofia, you’re 21 years old? You’re so young!” or “Sofia it’s not that deep” Sorry, It IS that deep! I have no idea how our mothers and grandmothers did it, and are still doing it, if I am completely honest. How are they in their 50s, 60s, 70s and up and STILL putting up with their performance for men? How am I only in my 20s and already sick of it? I don’t get it.
Okay, please do not get me wrong. I am not implying every single man, and even explaining this part to you makes me want to tear all of my hair out because I am exhausted trying to explain that OBVIOUSLY it is not a single-man issue, but just the way men think and the way they are brought up that is the issue, or in other words: the patriarchy.
Being a woman is to perform. Do you guys know that one Margaret Atwood quote? You know what let me get it for you,
“Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride.
I genuinely would like to throw up after reading that.
What motivated me to write this was a mixture of my close friend Cristina helping me figure out what to write for my next article, and also the absolute pent-up female rage I feel pretty much every day, so this is me getting all that out. Every single woman I know has had an unwarranted interaction with a man, and without fail, it is us women that are second-guessing the situation. We say, “Oh maybe he didn't mean it like that. Maybe I took it the wrong way.” YES, HE DID. I am sick of making up lousy excuses for immature men, and I am sick of wanting and performing for male validation.
I don’t care how independent you think you are, or how strong of a sense of individuality you have. It doesn’t matter. We still monitor ourselves, every little footstep we take, every hair tucked behind our ears, every smile we give to strangers. I find it nauseating that this is the reality: women are objects to be looked at, even unto themselves, and we are unable to escape the ongoing objectification. Why is it that every microscopic thing I do, even if I say “I don’t care” deep down inside, I do care, I do want male validation, rooted deep within me, is that little notion of wanting to be liked by insufferable men.
I went to play pool with friends recently, when we got there some lads were playing a game. We did what any normal person that wants to play pool would do: we placed a two euro coin on the edge of the table and talked to the lads to say we wanted to play next. Once they had finished a game, they played another, disregarding our agreement or our coin, I would usually stand up and call them out on it, but for some reason that specific night I just couldn’t, I was too anxious that these lads that were hogging the pool table wouldn’t like me. That they would make fun of me. Or maybe ignore me. I just couldn’t bear the thought of it. I know social anxiety is also a thing, and that maybe I would have reacted differently if I felt more confident that night, but I shouldn’t have had to feel that way. I shouldn’t have had to stand up for myself, they should have just been decent people.
I’m sure some of you are reading this and saying, “Well, my boyfriend is great” and honey, I am sure he is, but he is still a man! My ex is wonderful, I have a lot of love for him, but there were times when we were together that he just didn’t see things from my perspective, and when I explained things to him, he really tried to understand and take on board what I am saying and try to remember it for the next time something happens. Sometimes I’ll choose to walk away, rather than defend myself after being harassed on a night out. Men don’t have that constant fear that if they talk or fight back, they could be sexually assaulted or killed. I don’t blame them, some of them are so lucky and so privileged to not have to worry about these little things. The part that breaks my heart is that we can explain or argue our point of view as much as we can and some still just won’t get it, because how can you understand something you’ll never experience?
When I was in the gym a couple of days ago. I felt like I was being stared down (I probably wasn’t) but sometimes gazing around the room, I caught a glimpse of different people staring at other strangers, staring at other strangers working out. It reminded me of the fact that I am constantly aware of what I am doing, of what I am wearing - is my top too tight? Or is there some tissue stuck to my shoe that I am unaware of? Why. Do. I. Care. So. Much. Please someone just tell me. The joke is up! Ha ha, very funny. I’m done. Where are the cameras.
The patriarchy is literally feeding into my toxicity without my consent. I find myself judging people, and then having to take a step back and tell myself I am being an awful person. When I experience sexual assault or harassment, I feel like I am over exaggerating. We have gotten to a point where being catcalled in public is such a normality, so calling it out for what it actually is (Harassment) feels INSANE. OH, and when we DO get catcalled in public, we tend to have an inner monologue asking ourselves: “oh god is my skirt too short? Is my top transparent? Are they still looking at me?” I don’t want to be perceived. Don’t perceive me. Then I get flustered. Hot. sweaty. I can’t stop walking because then they will still see me and I cannot let my guard down, I cannot stop my performance mid act. I cannot show that I am uncomfortable because I want them to like me. I want them to like me, but the performance I put on is not a representation of who I really am, it is a representation of what society wants me to be, and that is BS.
