thefeministgaze

[thefeministgaze]

When My Little Brother Wanted To Be Wonder Woman

It was the early quarantine days. The kids from the apartment block moved from one house to the other, gathering up toys, pretending to be secret agents and space invaders.

When the boys gathered at our house, the topic shifted to superheroes. Each fought to be a character, and some took more than one. "I'm Captain America and Iron Man," said a fella. My brother told him it wasn't fair. But the boy insisted he took them first and that it was fair. So my brother told him in the most proudest and boastful way one could say, "Fine then. I'm Wonder Woman!"

It is usually at this moment that someone says, "Oh. So you're a girl,” and laughs hysterically. But to the surprise of my misogyny-accustomed brain, another boy immediately followed up with, "Then I'm Captain Marvel!" And another boy said, "I'm Black Window then." And another boy fought to be Captain Marvel claiming she was the most powerful of them all.

In 2020, while these 12-year-old boys were fighting to be female superheroes, I was recollecting what it was to be their age. I’d talk to my friends about how cool Spider-Man was and we once had a discussion on The New Yorker article published in Chennai Times that called female superheroes “porn stars”.

Given my experience, my brain couldn't comprehend this situation my brother was in for a second. Once it did, I felt this overwhelming joy, looking at the amount of change that has happened over the years through movements and struggles and cries and criticisms by feminists—this change reflected in this two-minute conversation between five young boys who did not just see female superheroes as potential girlfriends, but as actual heroes with powers they could choose to be. Their little conversation gave me hope.

I remember the outrage and disgust of adult men and college boys when Wonder Woman was announced. They hated the movie before it even came out.

I remember how those very men hated Captain Marvel too for taking the bike of a guy who cat-called her. "Stealing is wrong," they said — these boys who watch dick-flicks where jacked men hijack military planes to fight.

I remember how Black Widow was seen as nothing more than a big-breasted redhead who got the criminals between her legs. Was she wearing underwear? was the biggest question running through the minds of male audience and interviewers who posed the question to Scarlett Johansson on several occasions.

But these little boys are growing up in a society which has become a little better since then. A society that is just a little bit kinder towards women, and a little sensitized in the way it treats them. A society where female superheroes are normal and powerful and not sexual.

When my brother wanted to be Wonder Woman, it showed me that the struggle of feminist writers and critics against the male gaze has not gone in vain. Change is happening—slowly, but it's happening. And I hope I could be a part of this change through this newsletter. I hope I could make the world see through The Feminist Gaze.

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Bonus: Boys dressed as Wonder Woman:

[thefeministgaze]

To the Ingenious Artist's Innocent Muse

There's a young girl somewhere—everywhere—aching for love. And there's an old, ingenious artist ready to accept it.

Muse, he calls her. Their love will be echoed for centuries in art and literature. The law may be against this old man pursuing this sweet, innocent child, but age holds no significance in the face of love—unless the love is between an older woman and a handsome, little boy. It feels too perverse to even think of such love. But an old man's love for a little girl seems so pure, it is almost forgivable.

This love extends his arm to paint her virgin self stripped to its bare, beautiful skin. This love makes him settle down for a marriage with her, not without little affairs now and then, of course. But nothing comes close to his love for his darling Muse—the one that's perfect for him in his own sadistic way, the one that either moulds to his version of a perfect woman or challenges it just enough to make his love life enticing.

Insanity and death are close encounters of the Muse in this kind of love. The closer she gets to them, the purer their bond.

The ingenious artist, rock star, film god—a few months of affection from this man is worth getting into trouble for. His love is too rare—his lust he gives in abundance, but his love—too rare to be ignored.

So mould, Muse. Bend. Please him in his ways. Struggle in sex if it arouses him, sacrifice a little if it keeps him loyal. You may not get his attention for too long, but those few precious moments when he is faithful and kind—it's worth losing your life for.

So mould, Muse. Bend. Break if you must from the burden of his mighty love. One day, it'll take life in your memoir, long after his death and marriage with his new Muse, younger than you. But that permanence, that immortality of your love in art—it's worth your aches. It's worth your youth. It's worth your pride. It's worth your freedom. Give them all to him and see him make a beautiful sculpture of you, untouched by time, untouched by law, untouched by morals.

And then, see this sculpture worshiped by your daughter and her daughter who will pray to find love just like yours with a man just like their estranged father—a love so mighty that it doesn't kneel to ask for your hand. A love so mighty, it'll consume you whole. A love so mighty, it distances itself when it feels humbled by you. A love so mighty, that your name isn’t worthy to refer to you, and you will be forever known as His Muse.

•••

The world of art—whatever form it takes—glorifies the tales of love and abuse between the old, ingenious artist and his young, innocent muse: Picasso and Gilot. Elvis and Priscilla. Tarantino and Thurman. Kubrick and Duvall.

An ingenious mind incapable of human decency holds no ingenuity. A great artist incapable of humane love could never really attain greatness.

Art can never justify abuse. Genius could never excuse immorality.

Dear Muse, bearing his love does not make you special. Bearing his abuse does not make you strong. Your silence doesn’t indicate your classiness. Your acceptance doesn’t show your forwardness.

Muse, without you, the artist is nothing. But without him, you are everything you would’ve lost—your youth, your dignity, your dreams, your sanity. Without the artist, dear Muse, you are you. Without the artist, dear Muse, you are free.

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