Experiencing the Male Gaze by Anonymous

by Anonymous

TW: Sexual assault

Since I was young, probably around the age of 13, I have been made aware of the disgusting hold the male gaze has on myself, my friends, the media, and the resolve of the Western world. Intertwined with the patriarchy’s governance, the male gaze tears into my back until I bleed.

One vivid memory that I feel I carry unwillingly, attached like a parasite, is when I moved to a British School and was made to wear a school uniform. Rolling up

my skirt in the name of “fashion”, I felt a million eyes leer at my calves, my thighs, my ass, as if I were made for their entertainment on the early 7:45 am commute. With that came many sickening experiences - the catcalling as I walked home; the trucks honking, professing their pedophilic desires shamelessly; the unintentional meeting of old men’s eyes as they wink slowly, greedily. They loved to see me squirm with discomfort; perhaps they wondered what they could do with my childish naivety.

Ruin me, they seemed to hear my clothing beckon.

My school uniform. Never forget.

As I grew older, let’s say around 15 to 16 now, I became entrenched in the validation of the male gaze, absolutely obsessed. I became defined by this potential promiscuity, the idea that I could please, simply through the way I spoke, the way I dressed. I pursued it, I drowned in it, I was completely surrounded by sexuality to some degree.

It’s sickening.

I was a child.

And I found, as soon as I abandoned my flirtatious, pleasing ways, men turned on me. I felt I was a sexual object or nothing. I was so defined by the labels other people implemented upon me for the sake of clarity; the need to conceptualise me, but never to understand me.

One experience that has played a fundamental role in my development is my first sexual experience. A boy, 17 when I was only 15, using me for his own sexual satisfaction. This experience eats at me to this day. It spanned over two days. 

I mourn for my 15-year-old self. 

Why did you go back the second day?

I’ve asked this question a thousand times. In the moment, perhaps, I thought it was exciting - finally, I can chime in when sex is brought up. Finally, I have a voice, I can be defined by sex as my older peers would tend to do.

So many firsts snatched in one fell, sickening, swoop.

Since then, I have found sex, intimacy and relationships a tricky topic. I have found myself avoidant and removed from relationships, and turning to sex as a form of that same validation. From the ages of 14 to 16, I felt I liked to be defined by men and the intrigue they found in the prospect of having sex with me. I was leading them on and revelling in the satisfaction that they were interested, regardless of whether I was interested back; it was toxic and suffocating, but I pursued it as it snared me in expectation.

Around the age of 17, I felt a massive shift in my perception of men, removing myself from this sexualised position that had been brought upon me. I became withdrawn from male interaction and kept to myself. I guess I was off the market, and with that came so much inner peace. The men that I was surrounded by at the time were very immature, and I realised it was not worth partaking in the competition. Although my peers continued to pursue hook-up culture for their own gratification, I found myself rejecting such an invitation.

I was happier on my own. I still am.