Believing Women Is Hard
One look, and I’m objectified and shamed.
Shifting my weight from one foot to the other isn’t helping anymore, only giving one heel at a time a temporary yet futile break. Now my other foot’s only gonna get more tired, and on and on the cycle goes til I can finally go for lunch. The sun was bad enough before all the squeezing and jamming in from the crowd. I mean, if you wanna hold a space for your kid, fine, but don’t think your whole damn sorority is allowed to waltz in 10 minutes before the next speaker begins, giggling and acting like you’ve been here the whole time.
Luckily these females aren’t tall enough to block my view to the podium, so I don’t have to move again. I already shifted away from someone wielding a golf umbrella that was either trying to poke my eye out or dangerously offer me shade. Just speak English and I’d be able to give more than a curt nod/awkward smile combo while causally sliding over to this free space — minus the invading sorority from hell now. Besides, golf sucks, I don’t need their umbrellas.
The last presenter’s time seemed to fly right by. Why can’t every speaker on Town Square day be like him? Strong facts, unbiased assessments, solid humor. Sure, ranking the top 5 athletes of all time is a little overdone, but in an Olympic year, it’s a good touchstone to bring in people who like weird, foreign sports.
Now — the idea that the little gymnastics girl somehow beats out Bo Jackson pissed me off for a second, but I swear the guy winked at me when he saw my reaction. I get what he’s going for; DEI picks have to be included these days. The cheering from the sorority girl holding too many spots only proved the point.
Squinting up at the stage, I see why her sisters timed their arrival for now. This must be the first female presenter of the day, right? Cause the first guy lectured on the Roman empire as the origins of the West, then it was some dude about the founding fathers but mostly Jefferson, and that Army General after him was basically just recruiting. The sports data engineer was the second best speech besides the first — who doesn’t love a tier list — and now a woman gets a turn.
If there was enough time, I could’ve left and come back for the next talk on gladiator weaponry by one Dr. Alex Smith. I’ve never heard of him, but it’s definitely the most interesting topic of the day. If I left now, I’d lose my spot so close to the stage. And unlike some entitled college girls, I wouldn’t push past people waiting their turn for a better seat.
Hopefully the model aqueduct demonstration later doesn’t draw as big a crowd.
It’s fine, whatever this lady’s gonna ramble about, I can zone out for twenty minutes and wait to hear if nets were actually viable in the Coliseum. I mean, lions are so dangerous I can’t imagine they’d be stopped by mesh fabric.
All the clapping and cheering for this lady isn’t helping with my daydreaming. With her at the podium, the sorority girls seem so much shorter now. I’m so tall in this crowd, the clear line of sight leaving me exposed. The lack of cover does make it harder for me to ignore her than I was hoping for… it’ll be so obvious if I’m not watching.
It’s all good, she won’t look at me. I’m just one dude in the whole wide crowd. She’s been given the floor for the first time, why waste her 15 minutes of Town Square fame making sure one guy isn’t ignoring her?
One thing people don’t talk about enough is how someone with a microphone gets to seem like such an authority. Her perspective is being blasted out to all these people, and what did she do to actually earn it? I could just as easily have been up there.
She does have a magnetism, though, I can’t deny that. It’s hard to take my eyes off her own piercing, deep brown gaze sweeping over us.
She stops on a man in a fedora, some sly milady joke parodied from her. A repressed chuckle gets lodged in my throat, a tiny snort coming out accidently — my most embarrassing quirk. My warm cheeks would be proof enough, but two sorority girls snickering in front of me confirms the sound traveled.
Who cares, I’m not gonna be shamed by a pair of bimbos who can’t even show up to an event on time. Why were they even let into the town square this late in the first place?
Dammit, the speaker must have taken note of my snort because I’m the new target of her focus. Here comes a pig reference, go ahead, it’s right there. It’ll be some joke to make me feel small or claim her space, or say how I need to decenter my breathing and be quiet.
But she’s still looking at me, staring even. Is no one noticing this? Is this how Mr. Fedora felt?
The whole point of a crowd is to be unnoticed. And she has all the power in this situation, with the podium and the mic, and her look. Her words are reaching my ears, her eyes meeting mine, her thoughts invading my head.
I have no more say than an inanimate object, like a bench or a discarded marathon cup tossed to the side of the street and stomped on. There’s no chance to respond, or protest. It’s like I’m in The Little Mermaid and she’s the octopus witch stealing my voice.
I’ve looked at women before, obviously, from across the street, or in class, even all the way back to the playground when they were too prissy to play foursquare with us. But I wasn’t staring them down, judging, not like this. Have they been doing this the whole time, looking at me with a verdict lurking behind their eyes?
The other speakers didn’t do this. Those guys got up and said their piece, their judgy gaze didn’t linger for an eternity on anyone.
I shoulda stayed near that golf umbrella. I’m completely exposed out here. Her moral views, her aesthetic preferences, her least favorite color, it can all flood in. She could say anything about me right now — not to me, no she’ll make her jokes to the crowd, and I’ll be turned into an observer of my own life.
She’s probably thinking that I’m taking up too much space, manspreading around some innocent college women, a creepy predator who wants to get with them. If that’s just all off the top of my head, she’s thinking who knows what.
Chill. Maybe it’s fine actually. If we went out for a drink, I’d show her I’m not a bad guy. We’d be on equal footing, there’d be a fair exchange.
Then again, what if we disagree about politics, religion, or golf being the most boring televised sport? I mean, they could literally switch to a jpeg of a ball against a blue background while it’s in the air and no one would tell the difference.
If we regard each other as equals, then she could tell me off — on politics or religion or blue being objectively the best color. That’s all if she’d even agree to go out with me in the first place.
Whatever she’s thinking, I can’t stop her. I can’t turn away or tell her to quit it, we’re in a public forum. This feeling that her brown eyes are concealing criticism or harshness, or hell maybe even affirmation, it’s impossible to tell.
If she agrees that sex is real will I feel vindicated? If she chants that the future is female will I feel ashamed? Every possibility is swirling so long as she keeps peering at me like that. I’m just some thing that she’s allowed to appraise. Women always whine about being objectified, but now here she is doing exactly that to me. Hypocrite.
As long as she’s on stage, as long as I’m trapped under that look, my own standing is diminished. It wasn’t like this with the sports guy, any judgements behind his eyes didn’t cascade over me.
God, isn’t her time up yet? I sure as hell didn’t vote for her to be up there, and now I’m stuck living through the consequences of other people’s decisions.
The Town Square Day committee chose to elevate her status. She’s lifted by the podium and this new era to enable her centering. Centering means she gets to be the center of the universe now? Please. She’s not stealing the world away from me — even if she’s trying to with that look.
Am I supposed to practice believing women, is that why the organizers scheduled her? Believing women is hard when I’m told to simply “believe” whatever her assessment is of the world, and of me. What about what I believe? I’m not seeing even a speck of that in her eyes.
They want me to rely on her perception as if it’s some factual math theorem, while my experience gets negated?
Ladies would love to have one of their own as some kind of nagging voice in my head, chirping about right, and wrong, and what I should say, and how I should squish my legs closed on the subway. And all I have to give up in return are my own opinions and feelings, let feminist theory become my conscience. I don’t think so.
I should tweet about this. It’s probably too obvious to pull out my phone right this second. She could at least look anywhere else and stop making me so damn conscious of my self. Is this how Adam felt after Eve duped him into eating the apple?
Maybe I should turn away, but it’s so awkward — besides I’m not flinching first.
But what if that’s wrong or creepy too? I’m playing into her stereotype of me then, she’s setting me up in a lose-lose scenario. All I’m becoming under her watch is just some gawking man in the crowd.
I’m more than that, more than what she’s seeing. I’m not a statue. I’m not some fixed park bench or disposable cup she gets to stamp a man sticker on and be done with.
God she’s making me feel crazy. She must know what she’s doing. Yeah yeah yeah… the male gaze is toxic and evil, so revenge is nigh. This is no doubt retaliation on behalf of all the powerful girl bosses out there. They wanna erase all of what I think of myself and leave me with her beliefs.
Too bad for women that her time on stage is gonna be up any second now. As soon as she looks away, her opinions of me can evaporate too. We can go back to how things should be, and forget this weird staring contest gone too long.
If she were in the crowd, if she would go away or turn invisible or leave the public square, then I wouldn’t have to put up with this. Or if this sorority was a fraternity, I could be one of many, invisibly in the majority. Let’s see how threatening your gaze is when it’s dispersed across a bunch of dudes. Not to mention, guys are so much easier to be around, I don’t have to deal with these endless potential jabs or whatever else she’s concocting behind those unflinching brown eyes.
I’m not saying she doesn’t have the right to look at me, no one is denying that. But why is my freedom to be unnoticed, and unprovoked, being overridden by her freedom to give me this look?
Wait — my sunglasses. I can put them on and for all she knows I could be sleeping. Just don’t be awkward about it. People put on sunglasses all the time. It’s totally normal. Besides, it’s bright as hell out here, it’s honestly weirder that they’re right on my shirt and I haven’t equipped them yet… There.
Okay okay, that was mostly smooth. Finally I have some much needed cover. I love these reflective mirrored kinds.
And she’s finally looking away from me. Ha, I win.
This was worse than that golfer from last year, giving the most boring talk of all time. I’d say he can’t help his terrible would-be sport, but he did make it his life so that’s on him.
At least I get to hear about how to take down a lion any minute now. But it looks like a short black lady with huge librarian glasses is lined up to go. The program says “Dr. Alex Smith | Professor, Roman Warfare and Gladiatorial Combat” — Alex isn’t short for Alexander?
Jesus, not two in a row.
I’m leaving my glasses on for this next one, and maybe sitting down — cool, calm, shameless. I need a break from the staring. If the female gaze is even a thing, it’s exhausting.
I’ll still clap for her though, it’s not like I’m gonna be rude, even when we have less than nothing in common.
I guess that’s how this ends, with whatever she’s actually thinking still hidden behind her eyes. She’s gonna get off the stage, and leave every possible smug look and opinion of me sitting there between us. I don’t care what people say “Oh no one’s actually thinking that, she’s barely thinking of you at all”. Yes she is.
It’s all right there, in her look.
Her: Sheesh it really is a scorcher today; coming back from the Alps was bound to be an adjustment. You’d think after all that time there I’d be prepared to deal with precarious footing, but tripping up the stairs on my way to the lectern proved otherwise. That was an embarrassing start.
I figured my talk wouldn’t draw so many people, since the climbs weren’t Everest-level famous, but the town really showed out. I half expected it to just be my little sister and her sorority house.
Maybe I can squeeze in with them for this Coliseum combat lecture, it sounds cool. Or I can stand to the side, definitely away from that guy randomly swinging a golf umbrella around this many people…
Good lord, golf is boring.
