A third look in the mirror

So, to what extent am I sexist? It is hard for me to say for certain. I expect that I have blind spots in this area keeping me from knowing for certain. Yes, I have links to Feminist groups in my blogroll, but that doesn’t mean I’m feminist, so much as that I enjoy reading interesting articles by intelligent people.

I have often adopted the awkward grammatical structures of how God reveals God’s self and God’s purpose or how one might reveal what they think by how they act, in the attempt to avoid gendered pronouns. But when I want to make sure I am clearly getting my point across, or just get sick and tired of the grammatical circumlocutions, God becomes He, and our random example of a hypothetical person becomes a man. I’ve preached sermons on God’s lack of a gender, and on the male and female images of God in the Bible (these sermons raised more controversy than any other), but I’ve refused to change the words to the Lord’s prayer to gender-neutral.

I told my wife that I’d like if she took my name when we got married, but that it was her choice. I had no intention, however, to change my own. I’m not saying she couldn’t have persuaded me, but that I would have had to be persuaded. She has hyphenated her last name.

I knew I had these issues. I don’t apologize.

When I read articles like the one on Feministing about a NYT write-up on summer dresses, though, I think about attitudes I have and actions I perform that perhaps I should apologize for. Maybe. I’m not positive. Put simply, I find women physically attractive, and I can’t figure out where the line is between looking at attractive women, and objectifying them. I like sitting in the park or at the beach and watching attractive women walk by. I don’t make a big deal of it. I don’t yell, whistle or drool. I don’t follow people for the purpose of staring at them. I may have elevator eyes, but I will fight the temptation to do so while in conversation with the woman in question. I will not, however, always win that fight.

Now for the turned-tables anecdote: one Hallowe’en, my wife and I dressed in a “couple’s costume”. She was Little Red Riding Hood, and I was the Wolfman. She got a friend of hers to make her costume and absolutely loved it. I went for a more minimalist costume. I have head-to-toe shag carpeting and don’t have to exert much effort to look like a werewolf. As part of the costume, I wore a button-up shirt unbuttoned more than half-way. A few of my female friends stared at my thus-exposed chest, which I found mildly amusing. I resisted the temptation to say, “Yes, that is real hair, not imported.”

We wore the same outfits at DragonCon where there were crowds larger than I’ve ever seen, and I saw many people, mostly female, staring at my chest. Some were sitting or standing nearby. Some were passing by. And the thought that struck me was, “That is completely unsubtle. I never realized how utterly unsubtle that is. It’s bleeding obvious these women are staring at my chest.” Now, this didn’t upset me for my own sake. I considered myself to be in a position of power. No one was in a position to force any attention or action upon me. But I did begin to think of how a woman might feel in a similar situation. Frankly, I don’t know if my empathy is up to it. I might need actual telepathy to guess correctly, here. I also don’t know if I’m going to change my actions. But, it’s got me thinking.

And, no, I don’t expect a gold star for that.