Recently, I came across a TikTok video of a girl who captured a man in the background looking in her direction at the gym. The captions insinuated that he was staring at her during her workout. After, an anonymous user responded to her video and claimed that the man was simply watching the television behind her. This inadvertently invited a group of commenters to attack the girl who had originally posted the video. She has since apologised and taken her video down, but a more detailed version can be found here.
As a cliche that we’re sadly used to, some commenters faulted her for wearing revealing clothing. Others even called her egotistical for assuming she was an object of attention. The ones that made the most sense pointed out she had doxxed someone without first confirming the situation. Admittedly, the appropriateness of posting the situation is debatable, but my attention was not drawn to the he-said-she-said dramatics of the video. Rather, I resonated deeply with the predicament that she and many women find themselves in: the catch-22 of being a subject of the male gaze.
It’s virtually impossible to confirm what really happened, and arguments within social media comment sections are rarely mature or productive. Instead, the question should be: Does her paranoia depict a broader issue of being a woman in public spaces?
According to Fitrated, unwanted attention from men in the gym is a rampant issue women face. 76% of women have felt inappropriately looked at while working out at the gym, but most of them end up doing nothing about it. The reality of these situations is that it’s hard to navigate for the woman, particularly so in a male-dominated space.
I’m sure every woman has felt the rollercoaster of emotions that comes with feeling like someone is staring at us: the immediate panic and fear of ensuring our own safety, the discomfort of feeling exposed and vulnerable to the male gaze, the disgust and anger when we imagine what they might be thinking. We might recall what our more conservative mothers tell us about men and how we should dress in order to attract less attention. What starts from victimhood paradoxically ends in self-shame.
There is also that strange internalised assumption that men sexualize us when they stare. A multitude of societal voices which have been ingrained in us would tell us to be flattered, that it’s not necessarily objectification, or that we’re self-obsessed for assuming we’re worthy of attention. It’s a whole balancing act to be at the receiving end of a stare.
Women are expected to be hyper-aware of how we dress and how we are viewed, but simultaneously shamed when we take precaution. Moreover, the onus is also placed on us to navigate the issue and confront potential perpetrators when we already feel unsafe. While it is important to do the due diligence to ensure that no one is wrongfully accused, it’s reminiscent of the “personal responsibility” argument that victims of sexual assault often face. It may not be as “harmful” or severe, but reinforces the existing dynamic of doubting victims and placing the responsibility of other people’s actions on them.
This is perhaps why some women resort to doxxing as a way to hold people accountable for their actions. While that is ethically debatable, it feels like no matter the outcome, the woman doesn’t win. If our paranoia is right, we might get blamed for what we’re wearing, and if we’re wrong, we’re still responsible for our “narcissism”; society demands our constant vigilance, but ridicules us for exactly that. It’s often a lose-lose situation for us.