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The subject who is truly loyal to the Chief Magistrate will neither advise nor submit to arbitrary measures. Before we discuss why it is men can't and shouldn't stop looking at women in the street, I'd like to explain about the girl in the miniskirt on the bicycle. It was the first of the warm spring days that inflated Toronto this week. I was on my way to work on my bicycle. Two blocks from my house, I turned right and found myself 10 feet behind a young woman. She might have been She had long blond hair, and was wearing a short putty-coloured jacket, nude hose — I didn't think anyone wore nude hose any more — and a white miniskirt, trim but straining, tucked primly beneath her.
My first sight of her felt like a light blow to the chest. Her body held my interest, but so did her decision to wear a miniskirt on a bike, along with her youth, her loveliness, even the fleetingness of the six blocks I kept her company — she turned right, and she was gone.
We owed each other nothing. The inevitable backwash of guilt arrived, as all men know it does. I have a daughter her age. I am married but spent several minutes gazing at a pretty girl's backside. I could hear the charges: But it was such a beautiful day. And so I decided to spend the rest of it cruising the city, investigating the famous male gaze, to find out just how ashamed we lads ought to feel.
These days, with women charging so fast past us, we're happy to feel anything. Details that catch my attention: A pretty girl with too much bottom squeezed into her yoga pants — and, mysteriously, twice as sexy for the effort. A slim blond in enormous sunglasses carrying a banana peel as if it were a memo.
An expensively dressed and tanned woman climbs out of a taxi, so vivacious I panic and can't look at her. Slim girls, curvy girls; signs of health, hints of quiet style.
A rollerblader in white short shorts does nothing for me: Her look is the sexual equivalent of shopping at Wal-Mart. But each woman makes you think, parse her appeal. The busty brunette in her 20s is wearing a rich emerald-green ruffled blouse, but it's sleeveless and obviously not warm enough to wear outside.
Is she a bad planner? Would she be a sloppy mate? Her name is Ali — a year-old student with an Italian boyfriend who looks at everyone. That used to bother her but doesn't any more. But I think it's offensive if there's comments. Every woman I speak to says the same thing, without exception. So why does girl-watching have such a terrible reputation? Maybe because it's an act of rebellion.
X meets me for lunch at Ki, a downtown sushi restaurant frequented by brokers and lawyers. A big-time lawyer married to the same woman for three decades, he's father to three children — the opposite of a player. But he, too, spends hours gazing at women. He claims he spots at least two stunners a day. We've been discussing the girl on the bicycle. I'm having a hard time concentrating: Ki's waitresses are brain-stopping.
Cleavage seems to be the prix fixe. One of them catches me looking at her, and then catches me looking sheepishly away, my store of hope fading the way a car battery dies. But a little bit of shame is good: I've got a daughter who's 26 — so I can't find someone that age attractive?
That strikes me as a creepy argument. Women might not credit that a man can look at someone of that age without lust, but as the father of someone that age, I can. X believes men look at attractive women because attractiveness means the women are healthy, an evolutionary advantage.
I'm conscious of it being unfair. But there's nothing I can do about it. There are people sunning themselves all over downtown Toronto, glades of flesh and sunglasses. Ninety per cent of them are women. It's not as if they're hiding. She's here studying for a night course. She just turned 50, and is still attractive.
But she admits looks from men are rarer. Visiting Italy 20 years ago with friends, "we were furious that the Italian men pinched your bum. When we went back, in our early 40s, we were furious that no one was pinching our bums. She points out there is a difference between a look and a leer and disagrees with X's rule that eye contact with a passing woman can last no more than one second.
A lingering look, especially if it's from an Adonis —that's, oooh. And you never see them again. Or a bus encounter, glances and sidelong looks until one of you gets off the bus? The first time she stepped out of the library this morning into the quad of semi-clad women, "I thought to myself, oh my god, do you remember what it was like to be able to expose your legs? It wasn't even sexual.
But it was liberating. This is another thing that made the girl on the bike so appealing: It would be nice if we all were. Y, a year-old married friend who still flicks his gaze at passing women the way other people flip channels, blames our national earnestness. We're not a culture that empowers men with casual sensuality.
He holds up his BlackBerry. In a world where, thanks to this thing, I am only two clicks away from double penetration and other forms of pornographic nastiness, the act of merely looking at a girl who is naturally pretty — I mean, we should celebrate that. Even here, on a quiet patio at the end of the day, I can see five women I want to look at. It's almost, but not quite, exhausting. Then I notice W and Z at the patio's corner table — the best view in the place.
Both men are in their early 60s, both married. They're surprisingly keen to discuss the male gaze. He still has a full mane of tossed-back hair. Z is shorter, less ephemeral. And different men gaze at different women. Would they sleep with me? But if they don't receive a certain amount of attention, they wither. It's about manners, after all, which are always most complicated in times of equality.
I'm about to leave when Z tosses me a last thought. But that's not what the gaze is about. Because a sophisticated man would not hesitate to gaze, and then he might be filled with regret and loss, and therefore gain self-knowledge. Longing makes us sad, but at least it proves we're still alive. Which is why men like spring so much, for the short time it lasts. This is a space where subscribers can engage with each other and Globe staff. Non-subscribers can read and sort comments but will not be able to engage with them in any way.
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