“You are your own voyeur”: To be a woman is to perform

As a young aspiring model, my sister walks each stage with a twinkle in her eyes, and with the same glitter that plays on my own as I watch her, I cheer her on. However, there’s a guilt that settles in the pits of my stomach, knowing what went on behind the scenes. Sleepless nights of mending her clothes, grooming her legs, painting her nails, fixing her hair, and polishing her strut were, at times, almost akin to a kind of madness that would only come out in the wee hours of the morning, where the sun would threaten to wake up and would make her realize that there is still so much to do. She would stop at nothing to achieve perfection. “Why do all of these things anyway?” I once asked, but she only looked at me with a deadpan expression. Of course, I knew why, and she knew it too. 

As I chaperone my sister to her events, I realize that it does something to you, being around young girls who are groomed to strive for precision. There is always a standard held towards women: to remain soft and supple, agreeable, and compliant. But it is important to be made aware of the fact that such standards have been placed upon us, not by our own willingness but by something, or rather, someone else. The majority of what we know about the world and the societies that lie within it—the things we consume and integrate have been and have always been seen and understood through the perspective of a voyeur. A man. And it says that to be a woman is to be pleasant to the eyes, to entertain, to perform.

And everyone agrees.

Why don’t you smile more often? 

It is difficult to unlearn certain things once we are raised for and by it. As women, it is no foreign topic that there is a common regard for womanhood that refers to us as lesser beings, nothing more than a man’s underdog in its playing ground. And therefore, by the diminution of our humanity through the eyes of men, we become like objects, like little toys. And we all know how boys love to play with toys.

The power imbalance may be seen as subtle for some, but it is undeniable. One example that can explain this further is the feminist theory called, “The Male Gaze”. This term refers to the portrayal of women for the empowerment and self-serving fantasies of men. It holds a negative connotation both in its original and slang state, often regarded as a form of criticism for media and women alike, but despite having coined this vocabulary to distinguish the concept that alienates and exploits women, we instead find ourselves misusing it, which leads us back to square one.

“Why the fuck are we celebrating the male gaze again?” 

One comment expressed their distaste towards a TikTok video where a creator is found re-creating a makeup look that they labeled as the “Male Gaze Makeup.” The look is a simple soft glam, where the makeup artist had glitter on her lids and her lips plump with pretty gloss. Nothing too crazy to be considered different, but despite it, it was labeled differently and catered to the public, intending to become an inspiration to other girls who would want to recreate the “Male Gaze” look. I find it crazy to think that something that is so inherently feminine, such as makeup, the blatant symbolism of femininity itself, can still be used for something totally opposite. Something that is for women, now exploited for the voyeuristic gaze of men. 

I am not, in any way, erasing what was done in the past to achieve what is now celebrated in the present. Womanhood has come a long way, and every day I acknowledge that somehow I am privileged to be standing on my two feet, all thanks to the women who have strived to fight before me. However, it is somehow apparent that certain idealizations still linger within us, something that is internalized and has remained in each of us, lurking and repressed, and with the patriarchal society that we live in, we end up becoming its unconscious participants. 

Just like the makeup issue, why is there a need to impress? Most of all, why are we pressured to follow? This phenomenon can also be seen in the way visual media has existed throughout the eras, where most of its themes are based on the empowerment of men and the demeaning sexual fantasies that come with it. With these themes, it is unfortunate that they became a factor in shaping the image of a real-life woman from the written narratives of the men behind the scenes. Through their eyes and the eyes of a viewer, both men and women, we become sub-human, and therefore, we become no less than some thing. These concepts then turn into ideas, and ideas turn into actions, and the next thing we see are the men on the precipice of their entitlement to women’s bodies and autonomy. 

The sexualization of a woman becomes the norm, but the purity of a woman becomes the perfect standard, but also, if you’re a virgin, you’re a fucking loser and you should get a life. But don’t stain your purity, because if you do, you’re a whore, and you’re no longer respectable. But at the same time, there’s just something so exotic about virgin women, right? 

So, yeah. There is nothing to smile about, really.

In the head of a woman, there lives a man

In an environment where most of us call for a redefinition, it's still apparent that the lingering shadows of such standards still press on in our societies, most specifically in women. However, I’d like to preface this by saying that there is no cookie-cutter standard for becoming the perfect feminist and that any woman can feel empowered however they choose to live their life, but for me, despite this seemingly arduous performance that we put upon ourselves, we enjoy it. There is a high that comes when focusing on the tiniest detail about yourself, and in a male-dominated world, we find a sense of control in our nitpicking. It’s a cruel cycle, and it has been placed upon us for the man who seems to have been always watching us in every aspect of our physicality, having no say in this visual performance that we are put through every single waking moment. 

But despite the desire to break apart this system, it seems like an impossible feat. It’s almost funny, as it is frustrating that these men call us obsessed with the way we look, as if it wasn’t them that’s obsessed with us. The “frivolity” of womanhood is condemned, yet it is shown that a woman with no regard to her appearance is treated less than what she is. Once again, it is a cruel cycle that plays with all the areas of being a woman, and we find no escape from it. 

But in this paradoxical hostage situation taking place, I like to think that there is power in the midst of it. Men look at women, but what they don’t know is that women watch themselves get looked at, and at that vantage point comes a specific perspective towards things, a masculine perspective—voyeuristic and sticky, and women are all too familiar with the feeling, the process. And therefore, with the implications and benefits that come with serving for the gaze of men, in order to succeed and to be safe, we let a man live inside our heads and dictate the way our eyes run through our bodies. In this way, disgustingly familiar as it is, we remain, we become, and we survive. We move our bodies through this complex performance like it's a dance we’ve known all our lives. Tireless as the performance may be, it’s all we’ve ever been taught to know. This is the contemporary female experience.

So, when my sister walks each stage with a twinkle in her eyes, I cheer her on with the same enthusiasm. The guilt is present, yes,  but I also find peace in it. She looks beautiful, and everyone thinks so too. For now, I’ll continue to curate my Instagram posts, maybe follow a makeup tutorial to post on my story, and watch it flood with hearts. Maybe tomorrow is a good day to wear that skimpy skirt—it is hot, after all. I am a woman, but I watch myself as if I am no better than a man.