Two friends have recently commented on how difficult it is to keep from gawking at people’s boobs and cocks. Both friends sneak quick peeks and turn away. After an onslaught of critiques of objectification, many struggle to know what to do with their nagging desire to stare at the bulging flesh of people surrounding them.

What I’m talking about is “the gaze” and the power of looking: how we see, what we look at, and what our stare implies.

There are many who’d loudly proclaim, “look at my eyes, not my boobs.” Others frame their breasts with tight, low-cut shirts and their cocks with tight, hip jeans begging others to steal a quick peek.

I fear that both the cold objectification of the body and the puritanical demand to shift the focus of the gaze from the body to the eyes represent a mind-body split damaging to a holistic sexuality.  Why should we avert our eyes from others’ boobs and cocks? Should our erotic gaze be destroyed entirely, shifted towards the eyes, or simply repressed into darting, accidental glances at the wonder of the body? Should the beauty of our bodies go unseen by those who fall outside our intimate circle of lovers?

The trouble with being looked at, gazed upon, stared at in all our physical beauty and cultural shame is that we often find ourselves forced to question the broader dynamics of power, privilege, and the right to feel sexual inscribed on our bodies through patriarchy, conventional beauty standards, and heteronormative culture.  When we first acknowledge those dynamics, we lose our desirability within the violence of dominant culture.

Confronting those oppressive values head-on, gaze wandering, and bodies on display, we may find ways to see and be seen without the violence of the system snuffing our desires. I sure hope so.