Mancandy vs. Boothbabes

I think.

See for yourselves:

The Comediva booth was situated just two down from one with a theme I didn’t really understand; what I did note, however, were several scantily clad women whom, at first glance, you wouldn’t have really guessed were characters until you tore your eyes from their boobs and noticed the elaborate makeup or clothing.

Unsurprisingly, their booth was never without a large gaggle of undersexed nerd-types who hadn’t been that close to a woman’s bare skin since that time in high school when jocks tossed them into a girls’ restrooms.  All — that is, nerd-types of all shapes, sizes, and styles — were eager to get a photo taken with the lovely ladies; unapologetic, earnest, and, once the shutter was heard, so happy as they strutted away.

We at the Comediva table looked forward to getting the same kind of attention once our ManCandy arrived. We imagined awesomely unrestrained women (and men, and everyone) clambering up to get a piece of the hot action, laughing at the irony (as the table directly across from ours belonged to a magazine called Girls and Corpses), and ultimately falling in love with all that is irreverently Comediva.

Instead, we got these responses:

1.  “I can’t — I don’t want to make my boyfriend jealous!”
2.  “Nooooo. I’m too afraid to get close to him!  He’s too perfect!”
3.  Nervous looks of longing.
4.  Judgmental stares.
5.  Jealous straight-guy stares.
6.  Friendly gay-man stares.

Now, that isn’t to say no one came over for a photo.  There were definitely quite a few ladies and men — especially toward the end of the day — who awkwardly power-walked through limiting heels and ten-ton costumes to celebrate ManCandy’s abs, but there were considerably fewer eager participants than at the booth with the “babes.”

No matter how kindly ManCandy invited women to objectify him.

But why?  Why is it so much harder for women to enjoy simple pleasures like underwear models?

Response #2 was especially troubling.  Not 10 feet away, men with spare tires and NAMBLA-worthy mustaches were excitedly marching up to women who could’ve been, at the very least, runners-up on America’s Next Top Model, shame and insecurity non-existent.

But somehow, even though passing women were literally invited to turn the tables and get a piece of ManCandy, and even though these women were considerably much better looking than the dudes next door, they couldn’t help but still look at and think about their own body images.

So many times I wanted to shout something like, “What?! Huh?! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL! DON’T YOU SEE THAT?!  Also, your boyfriend just had the two of you pose with half-naked women who happened to be wearing animal ears!  Were you jealous?”

What does it say about our society that women are conditioned to feel guilty whenever they’re ever-so-slightly turned on?  While men get to talk to our boobs on a daily basis, approach beautiful women, o

The only thing I can think of is we’re all desensitized to things like scantily clad whosawhatsit imitators and straight guy sexuality as a whole.  Or, at least, men are desensitized completely and women are overly sensitive in more discrete ways.

Because we’re looking at those images of women, too — we can’t not look, and we can’t not be affected by what we see, even if the subsequent thoughts and feelings may differ from said images’ intentions.  We internalize them, we see the standards and set ourselves against them.  Women are supposed to be looked at that way, to look that way, and men, being ever the holders of that Male Gaze, are the legislators.

Now, I’m not necessarily saying that women should actively objectify men simply for the sake of seeking revenge.  Judging by the jealous stares from straight male onlookers, I’m pretty sure men aren’t too fond of being looked at in a certain way, either.  What I am saying is that if women were afforded the same right to fantasize about and get within a foot of a professionally goodlooking sexy-beast, the world would be a better place.

If anything, straight guys’ll be more aware of what it feels like to be on the other side of the lens, and they’ll be a little more empathetic when it comes to setting standards.  And big, “scary” concepts like “female sexuality” will be celebrated rather than denigrated.

So we can all meet halfway and live in a sexually liberated, sexy, happy, laid society.

So, ladies, don’t be so shy next time.  There’s no shame in knowing what you like and liking what you see.

It can be fun and satisfying, I promise.

(Also, it’d make me feel less guilty about the fact that typing an “e” into my Google box automatically yields “Ellen Page photos” and “Is Ellen Page a lesbian?”)