I'm currently reading Norah Vincent's new book, Self-Made Man : One Woman's Journey into Manhood and Back. I find it a fascinating story of a woman who masquerades as a man in order to become as much a part of the masculine world in America. She is on a quest to understand, as a woman, what it means in our society to be a man, or at least a male of the species.
I've finishes a couple of chapters so far, and one idea has jumped out at me. She comments early in the book about how it feels to be a woman walking the streets of her neighborhood under the gaze of the men in her neighborhood. It is not a pleasant experience for Norah. She feels like a piece of meat. She feels violated by the men's eyes, which do not merely look; they gaze. And the gaze is not loving; it is possessive, superior. It is the gaze of one who is dominant upon one who is subordinate. It is a gaze that takes and devours and states quite bluntly that under the right circumstances--as defined solely by the man--she would be taken literally.
She contrasts this feeling of vulnerability with a later one of invulnerability when she walks the same streets looking like a man, with a man's walk and a man's gaze. In this trip, the same men who gaze dominatingly at her as a woman, avert their eyes when they perceive her as a man. She surmises that men don't gaze dominatingly at another male unless they expect to fight. Instead, these men glance her way, when she appears to be a man, and then studiously look away, avoiding any hint of a confrontation.
How do I look at women? Do I look at them the same way I look at men? I hadn't really considered it before. What I have noticed is that when I'm in a confined space, as for example an elevator, women do not look at me. They look away. They stand as far away as they can in the small space and avert their gaze. Often their postures are defensive with arms crossed and eyes downcast. Often I feel their fear of me, the unknown male, in an enclosed, isolated spot. I do not fear them, but I sense they fear me.
Yet I have to admit that I often look at women and have sexual thoughts. Frankly, there are some women who because of body type, facial expression, even hair style that when I see them I want to have sex with them. I can't put it plainer than that. I lust after these women, and often I don't know them. Certainly I don't know them very well, even if I work with them. And women that I do work with that fit my parameters (it really doesn't matter what those parameters are) I do more sexual kidding with, though I try to always be careful to keep it away from harassment (though who can tell these days?).
However, it's not a reciprocal game. I don't get hit on. I am oblivious to anyone who might be looking at me and lusting after me. Even as I write that the very idea seemly laughable. I don't see myself as someone to be lusted after.
And perhaps that is the basic point that Ms. Vincent is making. In our male-dominated world (and, yes, even here in America with its official policies of sexual equality, it is a male-dominated world), men lust after and chase after women; not the other way around. Even when Ms. Vincent is describing the dating scene from her male perspective, it is the man's job to pursue and the woman's job to defend, if not her honor then at least her personal integrity.
But I'm not in the dating scene. I'm not going to have sex with another woman, even as I remain interested. But I still look, and I still look with lust. There is a married woman in my neighborhood who gardens in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She's a small, thin woman, and I doubt she has much in the way of tits, and yet I can't help wondering when I see her if she's wearing a bra. There's no visible sign of it under her loosely hanging t-shirt. And when I'm talking to her, I'm also trying to surreptitiously see if I can see a nipple poking into the fabric of her shirt. And I'm as certain as I can be about anything that I will never initiate a sexual advance toward her.
Still, it is obvious to me, and I suspect it is to her, too, that I am voyeuristically interested in her body. She probably sees the lust in my eyes, and she's probably put off by it.
###Well, it's two weeks later, and I've finished the book. Ms. Vincent's insights are fascinating and ring true. Granted, I haven't been in all of the situation Ms. Vincent put her alter ego, Ned, into, so I can't judge all of it. Yet each incident she describes 'rings true' to me for analogous situations. Often during the reading I found myself flashing back to some situation that felt the same or similar.
The book is equally fascinating for Ms. Vincent's insights into herself and her own pre-conceived notions of men of various classes. We learn, for example, that the "working class" men of the bowling alley are much more tolerant than she supposed. She finds the stereotypes she brought with her into the bowling alley don't hold up to scrutiny in the actions of her teammates or others.
Self Made Man is an excellent look at the differences between the sexes from a wholly different perspective--a woman dressed as a man who passes for a man. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a good, thought-provoking read.
