I didn't think the male gaze and the consequent unwarranted attention from men would be a problem for me.
Well, let me rephrase that more accurately. It's not that I didn't think it would ever be a problem, but rather that I didn't think too far ahead: what could the male gaze mean to me had I given it enough thought? What does it imply? How does it make me feel?
I suppose as an immature, single woman, it made me feel wanted. Which perhaps may be the innocent intent of some of these men-- wanting to make a girl feel as close to special as a stranger can make her feel. You might think of a far-acquaintance who might have remarked on a stranger-woman, or even yourself. In which case, "no way" would they ever want to impose fear, or wrath, or objectification, or patronizing intent.
Today, I'm disgusted. Fuck your intent. I never asked for the attention. I question if I like clothes made to fit the woman's body because it's what I truly like, or because I'm told it's what I'm supposed to like. The one transformative thing I've noticed is how little the male gaze has to do with my actual attractiveness as it is about how I present my femininity and male dominance. It is not a compliment. They only stare and shout if I'm wearing a short skirt and a tight shirt. And why should I avoid wearing that because of his comments?
I can't tell if it's empowering or tragic that I feel most comfortable as a formless blob. I can physically choose to be invisible by wearing clothes best suited for the male body (also, I suppose I'm fortunate to be able to do that with size AA breasts, as someone with DD will find it impossible to hide her body). The gaze feels like defeat. It feels like a trap. It feels like breathing with a plastic bag over your head.
