On a personal note, okay, I would fucking love to do anything without being stared at. Literally anything. I cannot walk down a fucking sidewalk wearing one of my boyfriend’s old baggy ass t-shirts without people gawking at me like they’ve never seen breasts before. ‘Kay, full disclosure: I am a full-figured, adult woman, and yes, I have breasts, and yes, they are all kinds of wonderful. But seriously. I am not a fucking zoo animal,* and neither is anyone else walking around just trying to live their fucking lives. It doesn’t fucking matter what they’re wearing, you don’t have the right to treat them like they are somehow less than a person.
What’s even worse is the people who think they have the right to make some dumb-ass comment. What is it about being a woman in the world that makes people think it’s okay to ask if they’re real? Or to voice your approval, like anyone fucking asked for it? Or to suggest (yeah, this actually happened at a beer festival this past summer) that my boyfriend – my partner in life, my soulmate, my best friend – only likes me for that one reason? I almost got into a fucking fight.
But, Linda, you say. Men can’t help it. Looking is wired into their brains by evolution itself. You can’t expect people not to look.
Okay, but I don’t have a problem with looking. I have a problem with staring and ridiculous comments that nobody fucking asked for. Gandhi – of whom I’m generally not a fan but anyway – reportedly said that one should only speak if it improves upon the silence. Making an unwarranted, ignorant comment about another person’s body is not ever an improvement upon silence.
And as for looking vs. staring, don’t be an idiot and act like you don’t know the difference. I see into the future and can already hear some fool asking me if it’s wrong to look at someone for 0.3 seconds, and I do not want to fucking hear it. Don’t be ignorant.
What’s the big deal, though?! It’s just part of life. But it’s not though. I know for a fact I am not the only woman who wears sweatshirts and jackets I don’t want to wear just so I feel somehow protected from the male gaze. Meanwhile, those same doofuses (doofi?) are walking around in nothing but shorts acting like God’s gift to humanity. Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhp.
*Metaphor aside, I feel compelled to add that I do not generally approve of keeping animals in captivity for the sake of human entertainment.