by A young woman’s thoughts on consent, desire, and the male gaze
I was at a party on Saturday where a guy kept persisting even after I’d said no three times. Each refusal got increasingly explicit: no, absolutely not, not if you were the last man on earth, please stop looking at me like that. He finally left me alone, but not before pointing out that I was being “uptight” and “no fun.”
This is what we live with as young women. The constant negotiation of boundaries with people who treat them as suggestions rather than statements of fact. The exhausting work of being firm without being rude, of saying no in a way that doesn’t make someone else feel bad about being rejected.
Reading about London nightlife culture, I see articles that celebrate women’s sexual liberation while completely ignoring the harassment and pressure that remains omnipresent. We’re supposed to be empowered. We’re supposed to own our sexuality. But that ownership still happens within a framework where men feel entitled to access.
What strikes me most is how normalized all of this has become. You mention that some guy was being pushy and people respond with advice about how to handle it better. Blame yourself for drinking too much. Blame yourself for what you were wearing. Blame yourself for not making it clear enough. The implication is always that your boundaries failed, not that his behavior was wrong.
I’ve been thinking a lot about power lately. About how sex is supposed to be between equals but rarely is. About how my being young and blonde and in a city full of people with power creates a dynamic that I can’t control no matter how much I think I’ve accepted it.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m having sex for the right reasons. Sometimes I think maybe I’m just doing it because everyone expects me to, because being a young blonde woman in London comes with certain obligations of sexual availability. But then I think that’s probably just my internalized misogyny talking and I should stop analyzing it and just enjoy myself.
The truth is I’m not sure what I actually want. I’m nineteen and I’m supposed to have it figured out, but I don’t. I want to feel desired and I want to feel safe. I want to have sex and I want to feel like it was my choice. I want a lot of things that are probably incompatible in the world as it actually exists.
