I
t was the first chilly night in Ann
Arbor since term had started. I
was walking down State Street
with a friend — the plans of watching
a movie on the horizon to escape the
stressful realities of our lives. While
we were walking, the brisk October air
at our heels, we noticed a man coming
toward us. I couldn’t tell you what he
looked like, and yet this article wouldn’t
be possible without his gaze.
Face buried in a book, he quickly
glances up to realize he is on a track to
collide with us, but he looks back down
at his book almost as if he hadn’t quite
rationalized what he saw. He takes a few
more steps toward us, only to finally
catch up with what he saw, and looks
up again, only this time, his mouth is
gaping open.
He is quickly behind us — my friend
and I begin to laugh. Sure, we are all
guilty of staring, but this was almost
visceral. We spent the next several
minutes arguing that the gaper was in
fact gaping at the other one. Giggling
like high school girls, the uncomfortable
moment was soon behind us.
I think the first time that I became
acutely aware of my gender was
earlier this year. I had flown across
the Atlantic and spent six weeks of the
summer in France. It was on the dimly-
lit cobblestone streets of Europe that I
began to be conscious that I am a woman.
I have always identified as female.
However,
the
actual
weight
and
composition of what it means to be a
woman, at least for me, wasn’t a daily
thought. It was a fact as arbitrary as the
clothes I wear — an afterthought.
This began to change in France.
There, my gender became an identifier
that I could never seem to leave the
house without. It was in France that I
began to notice the cars slow down as the
men inside checked me out. My resting
face was interpreted as an invitation to
conversation. My polite, “excuse-moi”
was now an opening. It was as though I
was plagued by my own gender, unable
to shake it off. There is a strong notion
that European countries have won
critical social battles, leaving the United
States behind. While several important
social victories have taken place within
French borders, there is still significant
work to be done in regard to gender
equality. There is a sexism ingrained in
the very fibers of the culture — it is in
these nuances that sexism proliferates.
Before leaving for study abroad,
women are often advised to be alert
to these cultural differences. These
small things like catcalling — that at
times may be deemed negligible — are
so commonplace that it is difficult to
eradicate them making the problem of
gender equality harder to answer.
Yet, despite being aware of these
potential moments, I was not necessarily
prepared
to
accept
them.
I
still
shuddered when the older French man
leaned into me and whispered in my ear,
“Vous-etes merveilleuse,” or “You are
magnificent,” as if I were a specimen to
be admired. I could hear his voice carry
throughout my body. A whisper in an ear
is not the worst thing that most women
experience, but establishing a hierarchy
of grievances only stands to divide us.
Prior to studying abroad, when I
would walk in the U.S. — where there
is still notable gender inequality — I
would walk like a person whose gender
is an afterthought — only a part of my
identity, not the entirety of it. However,
in France, I felt as though my gender
was the first thing people noticed. It
wasn’t always the overt catcalling that
reminded me that I was a woman, but
rather always feeling under someone’s
gaze. At times it was rather unsettling to
walk to class just to have someone peer
at me from head to toe.
I don’t think this is a problem
exclusive to France, nor to the greater
European Union. Gender equality is
a battle that has been underway for
several decades and its successes or
failures are manifested in various ways
across the world. France has several
initiatives in order to combat things like
catcalling. There are posters everywhere
on the trains ensuring that harassment
is prohibited. There are even laws that
attempt to penalize those who catcall
women. Such incentives are important
for moving forward, but they are not an
end all be all solution.
So as I walked down State Street, the
gaze brought me back to this struggle
of being aware of my gender. What I
believe lay dormant in the U.S. was in
fact still active. A sensation I thought
would stay within the confines of study
abroad managed to permeate to my daily
life. Maybe a gaping man is innocent, but
it is not the man itself that is unsettling,
it is that the gape reduces you to nothing
more than the exploitation of your
gender. Your sexuality is taken without
your consent and objectified. A woman
walking down the becomes an object for
admiration, not a person.
2B
Managing Statement Editor:
Brian Kuang
Deputy Editors:
Colin Beresford
Jennifer Meer
Editor in Chief:
Alexa St. John
Photo Editor:
Amelia Cacchione
Designer:
Elizabeth Bigham
Managing Editor:
Dayton Hare
Copy Editors:
Elise Laarman
Finntan Storer
Wednesday, October 24, 2018// The Statement
The Gaper on State Street
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | OCTOBER 24, 2018
BY MARTINA VILLALOBOS, COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY
“While we were walking, the brisk October
air at our heels, we noticed a man coming
toward us. I couldn’t tell you what he
looked like, and yet this article wouldn’t be
possible without his gaze.”