The Gaze

Men look--that's just what they do. You should take it as a compliment.

The first part of this statement is true, and there are instances wherein the second part can be true as well. A woman knows when she is being complimented by a man who is looking at her. It happens every day: A guy sees you as you are walking down the street. He is walking, or driving, and he looks, catches you looking, and looks away embarrassed. That can be a nice compliment. He doesn't catcall or wolf whistle. He doesn't touch you. He doesn't get out of the car or make a uturn. He doesn't keep staring at you. Those things are not compliments. If a man you are dating or sleeping with or married to looks at you, it is often with fondness and googly eyes, and that's a compliment too.

So, before I get into this post, I just want to point out that I am not against men looking at women. Human beings do this. Most humans know how to do it without being disrespectful. And yet...we seem collectively obsessed with the idea that women are looked at, and men look, and that's just how it is. This is assumed in everything. It's not just in the extreme examples--being told to cover up, slut shaming-policies that tell teenage girls they can't wear strapless dresses to the Prom because boys will be unable to deal, having people tell you that you can't expect to be left alone, to receive one moment's peace, with those legs, those boobs, that face, that whatever. It's not just about how men look at us and how the blame always seems to fall back on us no matter what happens.

It's about how we look at ourselves.

I was reading some ridiculous Glamour magazine article recently--it was one of those surveys that asks a bunch of women random questions about sex. You know, so you can figure out all the different ways that you are abnormal when you read the article. I was reading this, kind of bored, and then a question caught my eye: have you ever had sex with the lights on? And I was thinking, that's the dumbest question I've ever read. Of course the answer is 100% yes. But some shocking number of women--grown women!--answered no, so there is this huge percentage of women who claim to do it exclusively in the dark. Here were my thoughts, in order, on this:

They are all lying.
I had no idea that systemic power outages were such a problem in America.
Who has time to worry about finding the light switch? and
But then, with no lights, how would I look at him?

It was this last thought that made me realize I had interpreted the question like a man. You read these things, and even the self-esteem-building articles are focused on getting women to understand that men really do think you're beautiful, really, flaws and all. They love all kinds of bodies. They don't notice cellulite. They like to look at you naked. And all that. And you should feel confident and sexy and keep the lights on blah blah.

But the thing is, I don't want to keep the lights on so that I can feel confident and sexy and validated in my body. I am not thinking about the lights, and I am not thinking about my body. I am thinking about other, more interesting stuff. Maybe I'm not thinking at all. And, you know, I want to keep the lights on so I can look at HIM. At that moment, I'm not thinking about what I look like, because I am not making love to myself. I don't care if he thinks I'm beautiful. I care if I think he's beautiful. Women's magazines have told me a thousand times that this is not normal woman-thinking. Well, too bad.

I have body insecurities--of course I do. They usually emerge when I'm trying on swimsuits. But I can honestly say that I have never felt much body insecurity in a sexual situation, not even when I was a young teenager. I haven't wondered how the lighting makes me look, whether he thinks I look good, or whatever. And it's not because I haven't had any reason to feel that way. I have been enormously pregnant in intimate situations, to the point where I weighed more than the baby daddy. I have had a hell of a time losing the baby weight. I have been sick, and skinny, and felt boyish in the process. I have had one of the most sexual parts of my body--my breasts--left looking temporarily like mauled hamburger. I have been bald, people--completely hairless, all over my body. I went through menopause at age 35. So, I've got the body insecurity issues covered, I believe.

And still, I can't imagine my top of mind question in the sack being, I wonder what he thinks of how my butt looks? How do I hide the stretch marks? And, is this good enough? Because I'm thinking, nice ass! The kids are sleeping, let's go! I mean, at that moment, is there even a lightswitch in the room? Who cares?

And another thing--I've told my husband he can't wear those ratty white tshirts to bed. I don't want to look at that. He thinks my tank top and underwear bedtime uniform is hot, thankfully, and it's not like I'm trying to get him to wear the guy version of the sexy nightie (what would that be, do you think? boxer briefs one size too small?), but I mean, he needs to put in equal effort to not make this seem like we're just roommates. And when we're working out together and he takes long breaks to watch me do squats, I tell him to take his shirt off. This looking thing works both ways--right?

In our living room, it does. In the wider world? Not so much.

What a collective shame that everyone is looking at women, including the women themselves, and everyone is judging, including the women themselves. That time could be much better spent.

Men have body insecurity issues too, maybe now more than ever. I have to say that I am so DONE with this whole abs obsession. I thought when gender equality came on the scene, it would mean that more women could act like men and stop obsessing over nothing, but instead men are just starting to obsess too, like us, and they have started caring about things like carbs and now they are eating salads while on dates and it makes me sad for the whole state of humanity. But here's the thing. They have insecurities or want folks to think they look hot, so what do they do? They do that obnoxious pose with their hands pushing up their biceps in photos. They suck in their guts on the beach. They lament the thing they wish they had (a 6 pack! or a 12! maybe a whole case of abs!). And then they...let it go. Especially in bed. What guy is sitting around thinking about his body when he could be looking at the body of the chick or the dude who is naked in front of him? Hell, they take their glasses off and can't see anything and they don't even care about the looking because they are really enjoying and fully feeling that experience, while some of their partners are dedicating half their brain power to figuring out the most flattering angle.

My husband has been known to lament the fact that he will never be "huge," never have "enormous guns." Being a supportive wife I usually say something like, well you should be glad you don't have that body type because you eat like a human garbage disposal and you should be thanking your metabolism every day for allowing you to do that. But he doesn't actually NEED me to say that. Because his next thought is usually something like "but that's just the way it is. oh well." I mean, he cares. For about 19 seconds. Women have a different thing going on.

We've trained ourselves to look at ourselves in moments when it makes no sense to do so.

This has led to some positive things, I suppose. Women are able to compliment other women on fairly intimate things without feeling like it has a sexual connotation. You can tell another woman that her butt looks great in those jeans. You can walk up to a total stranger and tell her you love her shoes, and she won't think it's weird that you were looking. You can stand there topless in front of a woman you don't know well, because you had breast cancer and she just found out she has breast cancer, and she can objectively tell you that you have beautiful nipples and you're like word, can I have a glass of water?

I've written about this idea of the gaze and cancer before, when I have stated that it bothered me not just that I was expected to focus on how I look, but that I was expected to understand that everyone else would focus on it too. I would read stuff like this in cancer-support pamphlets: if you choose to be bald, you should wear statement jewelry. That takes away from the impact of your baldness and draws attention to your excellent sense of style.

And I would think, ok, earrings are cool. But what do you mean the IMPACT of my baldness? And no I didn't CHOOSE to be bald. It is what it is. Why is the assumption that it's on me to spare others the uncomfortable situation where they might have to look at someone who doesn't look the way a woman "should" look? Don't I have bigger problems?

When I was confined to a wheelchair as a kid, I got a lot of those uncomfortable hey I am not really looking at you as I stare at you glances. I was no longer the object of such looks due to my curly red hair, and the looks were filled with disdain, not admiration. This could have bothered me, but I had something going for me:

I was nine.

I was all, hey man, I wish I could walk. I wish I could go trick or treating. I wish I could go to the bathroom by myself. Hell, I wish I could use crutches and do those things slowly and awkwardly. I wish my parents didn't have to turn me over so I won't get bedsores. I wish I could jump in some leaves. I wish my friends would still come over to play. I wish they would allow me back in school.

The way I looked to others didn't even rate on the scale of important things. I'm sure it would have if I had been older when that happened, or if it was a permanent condition. But maybe not. I didn't wonder what people thought of how I looked when I had a grand mal seizure in front of the entire sixth grade, either. There we were, at the most awkward and self-hating time in early puberty, and I was convulsing on the floor and foaming at the mouth and the whole thing. I knew it was scary for other kids to see that; I knew some kids thought I was dying. It never occurred to me to wonder how I LOOKED.

I'm glad I never thought about that. It would have been mortifying if I had, I suppose.

It's not fun to be looked at, to be judged, even if it's so-called "positive" attention. Because there is something very negative, almost violent, behind so much of that too. You can try to stare down the dude who is doing the same to you, but it pretty much always backfires. The impact is just not the same. Some guy catcalls you and you stare at him in annoyance and he says something like, yeah I'll show you mine! and you think huh, that didn't work. So you learn to stop reacting.

You learn to look away. Or to look deeper into yourself.

My freshman year of college, I had one of the worst situations involving "the gaze." Some basketball player who was a junior supposedly "liked" me. Now, we were not 12, so I think when my girlfriend told me that her boyfriend who is friends with this dude told him that, the actual phrase was probably something like "I want to do her." I had no interest in this guy, not only because I was seeing someone, but just because I had no interest. My friend tried to get me to think he was cute. It didn't work. She invited me to a basketball game because she knew I loved basketball, but then I learned that the real reason was so I could meet this guy. I said hello, good game, though they sucked in that game, and that should have been it.

Then, the gazing began. He would see me on campus and stare me down. Literally--he would stop in his tracks and stare at me. If I moved or looked away, he would move to keep looking at me. In the cafeteria, he would watch me carrying my tray and TURN HIS CHAIR AROUND to look. He was always smirking and whispering to his friends. I knew he was not only staring at me but talking about me too, and he didn't know me from Eve. My second semester, I had a class with this guy. It was a nightmare. I almost transferred from the class, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Still, I learned to avoid him, and I remember trying to get smaller in myself in order to seem invisible whenever he was around. I learned to see myself the way he did, and it made me feel like shit.

And that's the problem with the gaze being solely in the male domain. Even when it's positive--he thinks you're hot!--it arises from a negative place. Are you hot enough? Are other women hotter? Were you hotter 20 years ago? What were you thinking looking so hot? What could you change about yourself to make yourself hotter or less hot in his eyes?

No wonder half of our gender just throws up their hands and turns off the lights.

Back when I had long curly red hair, I got a lot of attention for it. I hated that attention. I felt called out all the time. One day when I was maybe 17 I was playing cards with a guy friend. I started to tell him about this thing that had just happened; someone (a man) had just walked up to me on the street and touched my hair, grabbed my hair with his hand and told me it was beautiful. What made him think he had the right to do that? And my friend said this:

Well, why don't you cut it all off, then? If you don't like the attention, get rid of it.

and I said:

Huh? But it's pretty. Why would I do that? I like to look at it too.

And he told me I had no one to blame but myself so I should just stop complaining.

He was right. We have to take responsibility for the role we play in perpetuating the problem.

So, I kept my hair, and I lost my friend. Because I knew how to look too, at the really important things, and I didn't like what I saw. So I just said, GIN, and never looked back.

I knew that there were people who got it, and I could choose to surround myself with those people.

Years later, I received an email from an old love who had found out that I had breast cancer. In it, he said this: Your hair is the thing everyone notices about you. Your breasts are the things that only the lucky few of us get to know about. But it's your eyes that always get me--not the way they look, but the way they look when they're looking at things. And I don't see that going anywhere.

Amen.