The Pain of Seeing Yourself Through the Eyes of Men – Part I

I raised this topic mostly because I thought about this a lot lately, and even bothered by it a lot too. If you’re an insecure woman -which is all women- read on, please.

Many many years ago, my life was surrounded by exclusively women. My junior high and high school were all-girls. I was amongst one who give not a single fuck about dem boys, and one who was always late in “digging in” other people’s lives. Those just did not matter to me. Sure my boobs and hips grew at the same time and same pace as any other women, but my sense of insecurity and dissatisfaction definitely came late.

Back then, I cared about playing better guitar than my friend Erin, I cared about drawing better than Adine and Levi, I cared about making stupid jokes with Alonk and Marci, I cared about acting better in my theater group (now disbanded for fuck’s sake), I cared about laughing too loud with my group of unladylike girlfriends.

palms - WATERMARKED

 

When university kicked in, I started to see things -other women and myself- as if I adopted men’s eyes. I see my over-the-trouser flap of fat, I see my friend’s slim legs and large chest, I see my own friends as live objects of men’s desire, I see the so called inner-beauty visible only to men’s eyes, and I envied the girls that were so popular and desirable by men. I see things as if they were objects, even myself, and it brought me into such a dark pit of insecurity that I despise myself for ever bringing up that topic to my head.

This issue wasn’t new, and it’s not popular anymore, but it still exists, and it haunts even the best of women. Of course, the “eyes of men” I was talking about is a general perspective of how a man sees a woman for the first time, you know, by the curves and bumps. A recent study unveiled that women actually also see each other in the same way a man sees a woman; through physical appearance first.

The problem with this perspective is, of course, it’s painful. It’s probably not harmful to the women you silently judge deep within (“OH DAYUM, WHAT SHE PLANNING AT WITH DAT CHEAP JUNK SHE CALL DRESS?!!”), but it’s self destructive at best. At first I thought I was the only insecure damsel that felt this, but I began to observe other women in their daily lives and am quite positive I’m not the only one. The judging game is a never ending battle, and even though you won’t be as popular or as pretty as “that girl” for a while, you can accept who you are. The accepting game is harder, but it’s a winnable battle.

That’s it for Part I, I’m tired of being melancholic. Gonna take a break now and mourn the death of fashion blogging. See you in Part II.

 

 

 

-The Dilly Chic-