My first true experiences of the male gaze are happening as I transition from male to female.

There is a man at my ballet classes.  Well, two.  One of them is sometimes in my same class.  I barely notice him.  He may be straight.  At least he doesn’t objectify me, so I don’t notice him. This post isn’t about him.

My impression was always that gay men don’t much care for trans women.  That is something which manifests itself within the queer community, and which I have experienced at various LGBTQ+ support groups I belong to.

I do applaud what the gay movement has done for establishing safe zones for all queers within the political discourse.  Few people know that the Stonewall riots, a seminal moment in queer history, had its origins in black trans women’s quest to step out of invisibility and discrimination.  I’m just saying…even groups which should be naturally allied often struggle to find common ground.

When I was presenting as a straight man, there must have been some power shield around me that kept gay men from tuning into my frequency.  I can’t remember a single instance of a gay man looking at me lustfully, undressing me, possessing me with his gaze.  And I find this strange too, because as a man I was ostensibly good looking.  I remember the women in my family warning me about gay men, predators, within the modelling scene, but even at the peak of my brief modelling career, not once did I experience a come-on from a guy…and the weird thing about that was that I was an androgynous model.  When I look back at the photos I did which pop the most, however, it was me with a woman, where us together made her beauty sing.

I am not puzzled for reasons of disappointment, more for what follows.  Did the gay men I was no doubt meeting, and have met or encountered in my life just have no desire for a straight man?  There is a whole sub-genre of gay male erotica that has to do with seducing or overpowering straight men.  I should know, I’ve written a lot of it [oh gosh, I can hear you scream…and I know, am I hypocrite?  Do I even understand my own sexuality?]

When I began my transition, I just figured that I would be even less desirable to a man than I was before, given my perception that gay men don’t like trans women.  Given that many gay men don’t even like transvestites.  But I have been a bit troubled by instances where that has not been the case.

The invisible man

On oestrogen, men have faded out of my visual plane.  I don’t really understand it.  I can walk through a room of men and not even see them.  I don’t know if this is a defence mechanism.  Is my brain rewiring itself energetically to avoid predatory male behaviour or to cloak myself in submission through averted eyes?  Is not seeing them, not meeting their gaze, a way of averting the eyes without seeming to do so?

Socially I see this is true too.  I spend less time and effort with my male friends than I used to with a very small list of exceptions.  The men who have showed up for me big time.  And I note that the men who have showed up for me big time are the ones who have the most to lose socially.  They are men who have publicly stood up by my side in settings both public and private and let the world know that they have my back and are also proud.  In the sex trade I have seen this referred to as big dick energy, and I have to say that is what it feels like to be around a real man, the true masculine.  [And women have this energy too by the way.  When I say that I am more man than I ever was as a man, this is what I am referring to, for walking away from my corporeal manhood has allowed me to keep that which is truly masculine, my constance, with me].

And boy did I feel this in a red-carpet moment a few weeks ago.  In the front hall of my home I have placed a photo taken from the evening.  My kids have told me that there is no way that someone looking at that photo would ever see a woman who needed to do anything to her face.  Even one of the facial surgeons I spoke to said, “you don’t need to do anything,” which was beyond sweet and confidence inspiring.  I will let the oestrogen flow for another year or so and revisit that.  Its sad, however, that my own feelings can’t be salved by a photo, but rather how people gender me when I am out and about.

The male gaze

In university, I studied the male gaze.  How does one do that?  Make film a part of the curriculum.  My wife, who struggles with her own masculinity, poor thing, used to tease me about what I studied, not least because it was so laced with feminist theory.  Is anyone who reads this blog surprised?  Gender studies, social constructs, feminism, male gaze…kind of obvious for a trans person to have interest in these topics.  Amiright?  

I love this thought that my only experience of the male gaze was as a third party, that I had to gaze at the gazer to perceive it.  The male gaze feels so different from the female gaze.  I am not sure that as a man, I was even capable of the male gaze.  I don’t say that to be holy.  I think the gaze is rooted in energy.  It is rooted in a sense of self.  It is a form of projection.  I know what it felt like to look at a beautiful woman and to desire her.  But this feeling remains consistent in my mind and body to what I experience now, as I am feminised by hormones.  My gaze was and always has been an invitation. 

When I looked upon a beautiful woman, a woman I was attracted to, what was going on in my guts was a desire for her to come to me, to caress me, to press her forehead to mine, for our hair to shade our faces, to feel the tender exploration of a kiss, those soft, tentative lip touches which electrify the whole body.  Or, it was an invitation for her to come and pull my hair, to drag me somewhere, to overpower me.

When I experience the female gaze, what I feel is this sense of curiosity from her, a sense of openness.  Playfulness. At times it is play like a kitten plays with some toy.  But it is gentle, exploratory.

When I first began to transition, I went to meet a woman friend of mine and was particularly dolled up.  We went to the British Museum to see an exhibition on the “Goddess” archetype in cultures and over time.  The show was called Female Power, and it was magnificent.  And the person I went with was the perfect person to go with.

I was well dressed.  She is someone who brings out the desire to be well turned out.  This was no exception.  As I crossed Russell Square on my way to meet her, a tall, handsome business man rounded the corner of the path in front of me and fixed the most powerful stare on me.  In an instant I felt taken in, in an instant I felt naked, disrobed, and felt a psychic disturbance (it is hard to describe any other way).  I felt dirty.  What I felt more than anything was his desire to possess me.  I could feel it and see it so clearly that even the ripple of the skin on his cheek and the change in the set of his jaw, made me know that he was staring at me with every fibre and a desire to possess me.

It shook me profoundly, and I found it so disturbing that I wrote a blog post about it.

My inappropriate encounters with men

Sadly, over my life, there have been many inappropriate, and unwelcome encounters with men.  They are always of a sexual nature.  Have been.  99% of them occurred when I was young.  A minor.  By definition, without consent.

None of them, however, had to do with the male gaze.  None of them ever made me feel the same way as the way I felt when this man looked at me in the way he did.  Yes, I was touched, groped, fondled…it happened often enough for me to realise already as a child that it wasn’t an accident.  I remember as a child wondering what it was for.  I didn’t understand that it was sexual.  And in many ways, it just washed off of me.  I didn’t feel dirty from it.  But this man made me feel dirty, not because of what I felt inside of me, but because his stare was so thick and heavy, that it felt almost as if it left a mark on me, this slimy film on my skin.

I’m very curious to hear from women about how you have experienced the male gaze.  I would also love to hear from men and whether you recognise the energy in how you look at someone…and without criticism, just gentle understanding.

We have the expression, “if looks could kill,” because how we look at people, our gaze, is an energetic contact.  It is a connection.  “I was just looking,” is no excuse.  

The man at ballet

He’s not in my class.  He’s very experienced and is an accomplished dancer.  He is also evidently gay in a way that you can see, feel, perceive in every movement, in his energy, in his clothes, in his looks.  I only say this to help you visualise, not to judge.  My first thought of him when I saw him for the first time was that he was graceful and elegant.  You know how dancers move.  He has that lithe, padding gait of the cat.  He’s also classically very handsome.  Tall, dark, and handsome.

A few weeks ago, however, while stretching ahead of class with others, he came into the room and joined, but came right next to me.  I could feel his eyes on me.  And I shudder to use the word, but rape is what it felt like.  And he kept looking.  And even though I didn’t even acknowledge him, and that point purposefully looked away, he kept looking at me, trying to catch my eye.  It was gross.

What if I switch to wearing a tutu or obviously female ballerina clothes?  Would that change things?  Being processed as a gay man is not something that I have ever bargained for.  And that is definitely apart of how violated I feel.

But there is something entitled about the energy and attitude that comes with the male gaze.  And that is that each time after that class that we have encountered each other, I get more of it.  And now he has tried to talk to me.  I have gotten up and left the room when he comes to stretch and sits next to me.  But somehow, just receiving the gaze feels sullying.

Not wanting to be a male sex object

I am sure that you can appreciate how wrong it feels to a trans woman to be objectified by a gay man, knowing that the gay man is seeing me as another gay man.  But it isn’t a one off either.  Visiting my family recently, I went to the supermarket.  A gay man stared at me in the vegetable section, and then came up to me after following me to another aisle, and hit on me.

“Are you a model?”

“I used to be.”

“You’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d love to see you some time.”

“That’s very sweet, but I’m not that kind,” I said.  Was that right?  Was that the nice way of saying ‘no’.  He scurried off and I felt sorry for him.  But also disturbed for me.  I was wearing heels, my hair was pinned up, but I was wearing a big billowy white blouse and suede leggings…I don’t think I was presenting as a gay man…I hope not.  What’s going on?!

If there is something that will make me do all kinds of surgery it is this.  Please don’t process me like this.

And the weirdest thing?  When a straight man comes onto me, for some reason, it doesn’t bother me.  Help me understand that.  I went dancing recently, and even though I was dancing with some gorgeous women, there was a man there who was taller than me, and he danced up behind me and put his hand on the small of my back, a very triggering place, a dominance asserting place.  And I just remember feeling how strong his hand felt, and that it didn’t feel gross, that it just manly…and even though he hadn’t asked, I was okay with it.  Somehow it didn’t feel entitled.  And my lack of response was signal enough…the women I was with might have also helped…

I love you, my readers.  Have a wonderful day!