Suppose I’m standing talking to someone in the street without realising that a stranger is looking at me from behind. I never turn around and, thus, never see the person seeing me. I walk home like nothing happened. But, in fact, something did happen, something peculiarly relevant. 

 

There’s a big difference between looking and being looked at, isn’t there? It seems easy to accept that when no one is watching, we tend to feel freer and relaxed. It is as if we exist regardless of our physical selves by just paying attention to what’s happening in the world around us. In these intimate moments, as spectators of reality, there are no prejudices, no social expectations, no manners to live up to, and no pretending. But it takes one gaze to break the spell. When we realise someone is looking at us, something immediately changes. We are no longer the subject who sees the world; we’re now an object in the world, being seen. Once we are in someone’s gaze, we are owned by them, and there’s nothing we can do. Of course, this works both ways; whenever we see someone, we owe them. They become objects in our world.

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Thinking about the power of the ‘look’ and how it can alter the experience of life has been a hot topic for philosophers—most famously Jean-Paul Sartre. He had strong views on authenticity and modes of existence and thought that whenever we are seen, we’re reduced to a thing—a body, an appearance, a role. This makes us feel ‘fixed’ or ‘trapped’ in a specific identity, stripping away some of our freedom and autonomy to define ourselves. As an example, Sartre asks us to imagine someone peeking through a keyhole, fully absorbed in watching what’s happening on the other side. At that moment, this someone is a subject experiencing the world—lost in his consciousness and intentions. Suddenly, he hears footsteps behind him and becomes painfully aware that he could be seen. In that instant, he realises that he is not just the one watching but also someone who can be watched. This sudden awareness brings a feeling of shame or embarrassment because he has been exposed, seen through another’s eyes and reduced to an object of judgment or ridicule. 

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Simone de Beauvoir added a layer to Sartre’s idea on the power of the look by pointing to gender dynamics. In “The Second Sex” (1949), she wrote about the patriarchal state to which women are subjected, a condition that, in fact, can begin with a gaze. She thought that men looked at women differently because “He is the Subject, he is the Absolute—she is the Other.” While analysing classic Hollywood cinema, Laura Mulvey arrived at similar conclusions. She came up with the term ‘male gaze,’ which describes the purposeful designing of the image of women to be delivered for men’s pleasure. These two women philosophers helped shape feminist theory for years to come. 

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It was not long ago that I was struck by how real the objectification of the look can be and how densely gendered the issue remains. After a workout at the gym, Diana told me she was being followed by a guy who ‘happened’ to be using the same machines as she was, who couldn’t restrain from staring at her any chance he had. Without much trouble, she said, “I mean, as a woman, you know that you are going to be looked at; you’re kind of trained for it not to bother you anymore, but this time, ah, that guy was just too much.” Maybe it’s that I lack her astonishing beauty, but I’ve never been trained to be looked at, nor have I felt what she probably felt in that situation. 

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This idea of the “look” is, of course, not limited to power or gender dynamics. Frantz Fanon, another existentialist, did for race what de Beauvoir for gender. He thought that for most white people, the colour of their skin isn’t a particularly relevant trait; it doesn’t distinguish them; it’s just the standard or ‘widely accepted’ norm. The black person, however, is made acutely aware of their skin by the look of others; for them, it’s a distinctive feature. Fanon writes, “When people like me, they like me ‘in spite of my color.’ When they dislike me; they point out that it isn’t because of my color. Either way, I am locked into the infernal circle.” 

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The change in modes of existence, from subject looking to object being looked at, is purely philosophical—studied within phenomenology and existentialism. Yet, it can quickly enter the realm of psychology. It’s not always immediately evident, but there’s a self-objectification effect born from the look, which is the case regardless of race or gender. Once we are aware that we exist in the eyes of others, we begin to see ourselves as objects that want to be liked, to the extent that we alter our actions to align with perceived societal expectations. Our self-esteem and body image are pressured to such an extent that we end up with social anxiety. 

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I hope you agree that it would be naive to think that we go through life unaware and unaffected by how others look at us. Let me write it down: We do care. And it’s okay. After all, we are social beings who, on some level, are inevitably influenced by visual appearances and use them to navigate the world. The issue of race and gender derived from the look undoubtedly needs urgent correction; however, even if eradicated, we will still be objectified by others. It’s not good or bad; it is just a change in modes of perceiving reality, where, at times, I’m the perceiver, and at other times, I am the one being perceived. 

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So what should we do about it? When Sartre talked about authenticity, he had in mind an attitude that accepts what the world is like but acts upon that with complete independence. In other words, it is not pretending we don’t care when we actually do, but accepting that we care and living to our own expectations. And so, next time that you are looking in the mirror before going out to the street and becoming an object, don’t waste time trying to convince yourself that you don’t care; instead, present yourself in the best way you can so that you feel comfortable, and empowered, ready to claim the world yours. 

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Some might think that accepting this would risk further objectification and that we would just be acting for the ‘outside,’ in a world that is already as fake as it can be. But that would be to have little faith in mature, intelligent beings like us who understand that one thing is the outside, and another is the beautiful world of the inside. Besides, wisdom comes from understanding.