Standing on the other side of objectification.
Something happened to me that night. Unbeknownst to you, something happened to you, too.
I like to believe that women are more than what men, and even women, make us to be. You know, more than just our body parts. You know, standing tall against those who sexualize us and how we’re undervalued and how inequality in status and pay is still a very real issue and all the feminist stuff that resonates with me.
But something happened that night, and you became more, or in a way, less, than what you’ve ever been before.
Ten seconds ago, you were smart and funny and sharp; a bossy, intimidating, rough around the edges perception to most, and chill and goofy and funny, pleasantly so, to me. But just that.
Now, I’m doing everything I can not to stare at you. In this moment, you are someone I don’t know. You are someone, instead, that I’d like to know. You are so close to being disrespected, maybe already in full effect in my mind. You are no longer my super chill, compatible, platonic friend — whom I respect and could never be attracted to — but instead, a super hot, attractive woman not-wearing-enough-clothing-and-yet, wearing-way-too-much-clothing right now and I’m doing everything I can not to stare at you.
So, wait… what just happened?
I have become everything I hate because you changed into clothes that objectified you and made you instantly appealing, as if something shined on you and displayed you in a light that I had never been able to see you in before. I mean, not enough shorts to be considered shorts anymore because, jeesus christ, look at that ass and your legs are like, crazy defined, and holy fuck, you’re super toned. Like a switch, I have become a douchey misogynistic asshole. And just like that I’ve objectified you.
My thoughts pursue, unwanted, like so:
omg, why are you wearing that? are you doing this on purpose? you should know better than to — wait, are you coming into bed like that right now? wait, i’m in your bed and maybe i shouldn’t be? what is happening? am i overthinking this? yeah man, i’m freaking out… why am i freaking out? dude, that ass though… like fahreal? i didn’t even know your body looked like that? but who cares if it does? okay, okay just act normal, don’t stare. LOOK AWAY. go to bed, chill out man. just pretend you didn’t see that. omg, that body though… ugh, i can’t do this! what is even happening right now?! fuck me.
And I’m doing everything I can not to stare at you. So I turn around, get under the covers and say goodnight. I force my eyes shut as if the harder I close them, the further away the images of what I just saw would stay. Like, I really want that image of you gone, wishing it fleeting, and gone by morning. I swear I can’t sleep right now, but I force myself to because then maybe this moment I just had with myself would be gone by morning.
Do I sound frantic? I am.
See the problem here is, well, there are a lot of problems here. We could go into so many tangents about sexuality, feminism, misogyny, lust, human desire, monogamy, etc.
I am a woman in a relationship with another woman. I am at my [very platonic — or so I would have believed that up until now] friend’s house and it’s a normal friend sleepover after a night of too much partying together. So what happened? She changed into clothing I’d never seen her in before, casually exposed her oh-so-amazing body, I liked it way more than I should have and then she changed in my eyes. Instantly.
Is that blasphemy to all other feminists? Women? Fuck, I don’t know, but it probably is. It’s not her fault. She was in her house, with the absolute unquestionable right to change into whatever she felt most comfortable wearing to go to sleep in her own bed in. Who am I to say, ‘Oh, don’t do that because then you’re tempting me and seducing me’, and all those other horrible things that went through my mind in that instant. That would be unfair and selfish and douchey.
Or how about the fact that I’m in a relationship and lusting over one of my friends at her house in her bed which is probably already bounds for being unfaithful or dishonest or ill-intentioned. Have I been denying a subtly deep-rooted desire all along? Have I been dishonest with myself this whole time by saying that my friendship with this girl is absolutely platonic? Fuck, I don’t know, but possibly.
Mind you, she is completely oblivious, probably because I’m a really good liar and because she didn’t notice my 30-seconds-that-felt-like-30-minutes panic attack in her bed as she was turned away. And because the next day, even though I couldn’t stop thinking about it and even though it was the first image that came to mind as I woke up remembering where I had slept, (even though I didn’t really sleep because I was way too aware of the fact that we were in the same bed), I played it off and was convincingly unabashed by the unreal desire that was hard to swallow.
Her smile was a little sweeter, her scent was suddenly noticeable, the space between us was unexpectedly measurable now, and I was falling apart. But I know myself, and knowing what I’m capable of and the terrible decisions I’ve made in the past, I know that I cannot allow myself to relive these mistakes again. But knowing myself, I probably will.
