The old adage goes that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But who exactly is this beholder? Any feminist will tell you that beauty should be defined on a woman's own terms, but in many cases, it is the voice of patriarchal society that tries to be the so-called beholder for all women. I'm hardly the first one to complain about this issue, but a discussion on street harassment at the Women's Center's First Friday Luncheon a while ago got me thinking about what's at play when objectification rules our world. The presenters, Andrew Culler and Shannon Mackey from Smith College's School of Social Work, defined objectification as "the experience of being treated as a body (or collection of body parts) valued predominantly for its use to (or consumption by) others." They then went on to define something that I think is at the crux of this problem: self-objectification. In their words, self-objectification is "internalizing the objectifying eye: evaluating oneself, consciously or unconsciously according to the terms and perspective of the objectifier." This struck a chord with me. Self-objectification is when I order salad on a date not because I love kale, but so I don't look like a girl who eats too much. It is when the slogan "touchably smooth" makes me re-read an advertisement as I subconsciously run my fingers up my shin to see if indeed, a guy would deem me "touchable." It is when I hear myself rated on a numerical scale of physical attractiveness and no matter what I do, I can't get that pesky little number out of my mind.
So what's the point of all this? Anyone can complain about feeling objectified. We all know the story of how the media puts us into boxes, dividing people up into neat little categories of race, gender, sexual orientation, class and ability, as well as how these divisions in no way encompass the broad spectrum that is humanity. When our personal category, or intersection of multiple categories, doesn't conform to what the dominant category deems "normal," we become targets of objectification. We are fetishized, tokenized, slut-shamed, fat-shamed, belittled and dehumanized. But this power dynamic isn't limited to the media. It's time to stop blaming human degradation on some abstract entity, when in fact, people around us are permitting these actions every day, and many of us have internalized this dehumanization so much that we are stopping ourselves from doing anything about it.
My message to you, reader, is one of which I have struggled to convince myself: that objectification is not okay. As a self-identified feminist, I am aware of the problematic dynamics at play in street harassment. A definition I like comes from stopstreetharassment.org: "Unwelcome words and actions by unknown persons in public places which are motivated by gender and invade a person's physical and emotional space in a disrespectful, creepy, startling, scary or insulting way." Street harassment is indicative of entitled people of power and privilege asserting their dominance over marginalized groups, and it is disgusting. Still, I'll be the first to admit that sometimes it's hard to see it that way. As a white, heterosexual, able-bodied, cisgender woman from a privileged background, my experience is of course very limited, but I hope that it will resonate with at least some of you.
I couldn't count the number of times that men have catcalled me on the street. My logical side is outraged, but still I get a weird sense of validation every time some creepy stranger whistles at me or comments on my appearance. "I must look hot today," I think, as if I actually need the approval of strange men to feel good about myself. Unfortunately, it goes the other way, too. I recently experienced a hurtful interaction in which I was labeled a "slut" (which shouldn't be something people use as an insult, but that's another can of worms). And you know what? I bought it. I started feeling guilty for actions that were no cause for guilt, and I felt physically sick with the thought that I had become a repulsive human being, even though I knew that my reactions were completely unfounded. This is what worries me about the implications of self-objectification: if I, a generally confident, well-educated feminist scholar who is facing these problems in some of the mildest possible forms, can't free myself from the degradation that I have internalized, then who can? Clearly, we have to change the way we as a community think. If there is to be a generation of empowered, equal human beings, the corrosive system of accepting the objectification of any group of people needs to be wiped out.
I don't intend to send you into a pit of despair. Although I'm not sure what the solution to this broad societal problem is, I'm confident that through some collective shift in consciousness, there is a solution. I don't pretend to have the answers, but I do think that the first step to remedying any problem is recognizing it when it happens. Andrew and Shannon had some great tips about pushing back against street harassment, many of which I think apply to a lot of forms of objectification. As they said in their presentation: "Be gentle with yourself. Keep thinking about it. Look for ways to express yourself that feel empowering. Report harassment to police, to transit authority workers, to [the] employer of [the] harasser, etc. Know your rights. Look at IHollaBack.org. Report harassment at school to Tufts' Office of Equal Opportunity. Share stories online on websites like IHollaBack.org, StopStreetHarassment.org and EverydaySexism.com. Form a group. Talk to people who have been harassed. Talk to local councilpersons. Talk to local police departments. Talk to businesses."
I would also like to add one final thought. You are not a failure if you don't feel comfortable speaking out when someone objectifies you, and it is not your fault if you experience street harassment. However, next time someone makes you feel like crap or like less of a person, I encourage you to think about why you feel that way. Today, I am making a promise to myself to evaluate every criticism I receive. If the intent is to help me be a better person, great. If, however, it sounds like a way to objectify me or put me in a box, I hereby pledge to work toward not letting myself be hurt. I know this is easier said than done, and if this goal doesn't sound possible for you, it is not because you are less of a feminist than anyone else. Please join me, reader, in whatever quest to move from self-objectification to self-validation feels right to you.
Kendall Reingold is a sophomore majoring in Spanish and women's gender and sexuality studies. She can be reached at Kendall.Reingold@tufts.edu.
