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.” 

