Wolf whistling, cajoling, ogling, “smile love”

The sexualisation of women is yet another crux of society. One that I am fed up with. I don’t give you permission to stare. I don’t give you permission to undress me with your eyes. Don’t stare at me. Don’t objectify me. Don’t sexualise me.

Van man

Taxi man

Man on the street

Man outside a cafe

They all have one common denominator of a woman’s self worth. Man.

Shame, vulnerability, fear.

These are all things felt when we are reduced to the value of the male gaze.

When the windows of the soul become our breasts.

Our bodies become the object to be glared down upon by strangers uninvited.

I refuse to cover up, for it is my body and my choice. I refuse to change my ways, for I am not in the wrong.

The sun is out, and it is shining. What makes men believe they have the right to stare at the female form?

My skin may be on show. This is not an invitation for the male gaze, yet how often does it arrive.

This is a thank you to the allies, who avert their gaze or connect to our eyes. And this is a Fuck You to the male gaze.