Chasing worth through his eyes.
She’s different, but he’s not.
‘Not like the other girls’ a lifelong performance disguised as individuality yet ironically rehearsed by almost every woman. We are taught that being seen means being wanted, and being wanted means we matter. So we contort ourselves into being just enough like the fantasy: Be polished, but low-maintenance. Feminine, but effortless. To be softer, cooler, quieter. To be the girl who laughs at his jokes, who doesn’t need too much. All to stand out — by standing apart from other women. And so we shapeshift. We disappear parts of ourselves to become more visible to him. But somewhere in the performance, we forget — we were never the problem. He just never had to change. We did.
On one end all the girly-bops are self-proclaimed feminists, but the pesky little inner voice conditioned to seek validation lingers. Validation from men by playing right into their idealistic fantasies. A persona of what women should be like if they were full to the brim with internalized misogyny. Don’t get me wrong, I feel a little dopamine tingle when people tell me I’m not like the other girls, or when I’m smart ‘for a girl’, or funny ‘for a girl, or the best one ‘you’re pretty chill’ for a girl. Said like we’re all expected to be high-string dramatic airheads. But that’s exactly it, that’s the problem. No matter how you look at it, it’s not a compliment. Not being like the others, makes you seem inferior, setting you up to pit yourself against other girls. Appreciating idiosyncrasies and differences is one thing, but putting a group of people down to elevate another, is something else entirely.
The hyper-inflated perception of a typical woman sets the expectation and perception. She demands respect, she’s a nag, she asks for what she deserves, she’s high maintenance, she expresses her emotions, she’s crazy.
These caricatures of femininity — ‘crazy’, ‘demanding’, ‘too much’ — don’t just appear out of nowhere. And really you can’t blame a girl for complying with societal expectations. The constant association of femininity as negative and inferior, forces us to distance ourselves from the hated stereotypes. I’m not like the other girls, I’m cooler than them, so pick me, choose me, validate me. We’re taught at every stage that desirability and our self-worth is determined by others. Especially the male gaze, conditioning us to adhere to patriarchy. So nuanced that we unconsciously play into it, from the way we dress, how we eat, how we present our personalities. Always coming across as the cool low-maintenance girl. So deeply ingrained in our brains and society is this gaze, that even pretending we aren’t acting in accordance with male fantasies, is ironically, a male fantasy. To pretend to be unseen, as Margaret Atwood says, you are a woman with a man inside watching a man, ultimately your own voyeur. I’ll be the first to admit, that the dopamine rush and validation of being ogled at by men creates a positive rush. But how can I truly feel attractive and appreciated, when ultimately, I am being generalized and objectified?
The false sense of female empowerment that we’re sold is ultimately secondary to male sexual desire. The dopamine hits I’ve been conditioned to crave mean my sense of place in the world belongs to those around me. I’ve given people around me the power to determine if I was worthy or not. Whether I deserved respect. I confused male sexual desire for my body as validation, craving to be liked more than respected. It was never about who I really was — only who I could become in someone else’s eyes. And beneath it all was the quiet belief that I couldn’t like myself too much. God forbid I be confident — or worse, self-assured. And in that performance, I lost sight of who I was without the audience.
It has taken me a long time to understand that my self-worth can’t be handed to me by others, especially men. Even then I sometimes find myself reverting to old mentalities. The journey to cultivate the love from within and unlearn the conditioning is anything but linear. Rather than squeezing myself into moulds or labels, be it for the male gaze or even mainstream feminism, I’m now allowing my actions and decisions to be guided by my true self. Not with the intention I want to make myself desirable for men or conform to societal feminine expectations or to be radical enough for the feminists. I simply want to dress, act, and do as I please.
Feminism itself, especially in its mainstream form, is essentially filtered by the male gaze — repackaged all pretty and pink. It has become commercialized and palatable, and somewhere along the way, we forgot who and what we were truly advocating for. Taking control of our bodies and choices is more than if we want to shave or dress a certain way. The movement was to allow marginalized women the autonomy and accessibility to economic security, affordable healthcare, and physical safety.
The irony of trying to be ‘not like the other girls’ does nothing but reinforce and perpetuate a harmful narrative that has us competing like rivals. Rather than isolating ourselves and separating from the collective, we must foster solidarity. Recognizing we all have unique qualities whilst also embracing our shared experiences. Allowing us to reclaim and define womanhood on our terms. Cultivating a sense of self that is independent of external approval. A womanhood rooted in self-worth that isn’t tethered to anyone else’s approval. Where we act and dress freely, without asking, “What would he think?” This movement must center on autonomy, mutual respect, and the unshakable truth that our value is not measured by how we compare to others or how attractive we appear through a man’s eyes. Because chasing worth through someone else’s eyes is a losing game — and one that leaves you hollow.
