Serving the male gaze

A woman is supposed to be seen, gazed upon, and the seer that matters the most , is a man. She fits the standards of aesthetic that appeals to a man. She is a woman, and she is written by a man. She moves carefreely, with the playfulness of a child and sensuality of a woman. She is supposed to be looked at, and that’s her value. She is a fantasy, a male fantasy. She exists, only to be seen and admired by him.

She is a representation of his fantasy, and he finds her in every woman. And when there is  demand, there has to be supply, hence she was and is constructed by many of us. Many of us, have created a version of her, that exists only to serve that male gaze, stare almost. I don’t know how many of us would accept it, I definitely am hesitant and was bit ashamed to accept that there is a version of her in me. Because how could I give in to this singular version of a woman that is accepted as ‘the woman” by a man.

Vygotsky’s theory of social development in social relationships, proposed that children develop on the basis of social interaction. He suggested that we are born with four elementary mental function, attention, sensation, perception and memory.  Our social and cultural environment allows us to use these elementary functions to develop higher cognitive functions. The zone of proximal development happens when we are helped by others. If we assume a community where boys are expected to learn and succedd while girls are expected to be pretty and mainly to be aesthetically appealing.
Both are in zone of proximal development to walk, yet the boy is provided with opportunities to practice and develop in a playroom, he is encouraged to use and explore the equipments and eventually learn to stand and walk by using those equipments. The girl also has the potential to walk but does not receive any support or encouragement to learn and explore the playroom, she is not expected by her environment to, instead she is encouraged to be looked at and encouraged to understand her role to be pretty.

Vygotsky also suggested that, Inner speech develops from external speech, by gradual process of internalization. Thought itself is developed by conversation. This would mean that the internalization of the normalization to be looked at by others, mainly the main character, a male, a patriarch, by a woman can be tracked back to a kind of outer speech and narrative, she was exposed to, at a younger age.

This theory does give the answer to my why,  yet leaves me unsettled by the manifestation of that internalization by me and by so many other women, girls.

It is unsettling because, it reduces a woman to her body parts, to an object, to a possession, an inferior secondary character, who is acceptable, as long as she is appealing to the male gaze, as long as she acts as if her purpose is to be looked at, as long as she is passively pleasing and fits the parameter of beauty set by him, as long as she is serving his gaze.

Mirror, Mirror in the Lake…

In the worlds and words of Myths,

A story of love still holds;

The Greek Myth of Echo who loved Narcissus,

But Narcissus who fell in love with himself.

Its been said that they both were cursed,

Echo could only repeat the words she heard,

It was a retribution for her lies and deceits,

And Narcissus got a taste of his own medicine.

People who loved him were never good enough for him;

One day he saw his reflection in a lake,

And got enamored of his own image ;

After breaking too many hearts, Narcissus fell in love with himself.

As often as it does, it turned into an agony,

Just like those who loved him, he could never reach and touch his reflection;

His love too was incomplete.

It was a Poetic Justice crafted by Nemesis, The Goddess of Vengeance,

Reap what You Sow,

She saw to it.

In Ancient Greek Mythology, looking at one’s reflection for too long was considered a bad omen (It does make sense as it makes you more vain).

In the next part,

Let us see what is means now to look at our own reflections, Shall we?

Haiku #6

Then, apprehension

Present, peace, content, restored

Hence, block continues


When end is here, it will be okay,

It will be okay, when end is here.

Everything lost will be found,

All questions will be answered,

Only answers have questions.

Undiscovered worlds, yet to be deciphered,

Kerberos, guarding them protected,

Scars it might give you, but scar suits you well.

Light the fire, Prometheus got you,

May you shall see the path, that was all along.


Her overlooked humanity, made a rebel out of her,

The situation she was given, she made herself resourceful even so.

Her essence stayed the same, since the beginning, especially through the raging storm.

Made to feel so, yet was never weak or worthless.

Waited it out, build her strength, virtue and intuition.

She was never to be harm, always hope, she was meant for,

So she escaped the burning house, looking for a kinder ground,

Took a long while, but she found a home in herself,

Once overlooked humanity, now she lovingly takes care of.

Always available

Decisions and actions have consequences, It just ties things up nicely

That’s what Karma is, I believe.

Even thoughts have consequences, microscopic at first,

but can easily influence the macroscopic world.

All the interactions, even the minute ones, determine the reality a moment or years later.

We all are atoms, agreed.

The chair I sit on, the body I identify with, the keys I type with, the screen you see.

The chair does not make further choices, to be anything but the chair,

Likewise I can only exist as this body, physically at least.

Nonetheless, infinite choices are available to me in this life-time,

to exist as anyone I want to be, anyone I choose to be.

Besides the physical manifestation, the consciousness I have, I am,

I can choose to express in any way I want.

The choice is always available to me, to us.

Lichtenburg Scars

Mystery song, playing in the background,

I thought it was a love song.

Struck by a blunt force,

Brutally unaware, I was caught up in a Hailstorm.

Mystery song, playing in the background,

It was a hymn of arsenals.

My pink-orange skies, now tainted by a black smear.

Deep in the innocence, found myself at the mercy of the lightning,

Mystery song playing in the background,

I thought it was a love song.

First destroyed, then aware,

No more mystery, it was a ballad of the Hailstorm.

All Hail the Gods of cruelty, desintegrity, thunder and destruction;

The scars can still be found, if you look carefully.