The pleasures of objectifying

A worrying change has come over me lately: I'm suddenly more sensitive to male beauty than I used to. When I caught myself spending the best part of an old Midsomer Murders episode thinking "Wow, look at that mad scientist's cheekbones" it started to bother me a bit. What's happening to me? One of the pluses with being a villain-lover is surely that it opens your mind and makes you appreciate other things than mere shallow good looks: after all, few villains are conventionally handsome, and the exceptions are often worthless, lazy skirt-chasers. It's not that I've degenerated completely. Brainy is still the new sexy: brains are about the only thing all my villain crushes have in common, besides being up to no good (so far: with my luck, my next crush will be a real dolt). Also, I'm still into the classical villain look as well: leanness, pallor, cold grey eyes, thin lips and generally fox-like demeanour. Only, when it comes to men, classical beauty has become a bonus for me in a way it wasn't before.

Hopefully it's just a phase, triggered by the fact that significant minor baddies - and some of the major ones - in my book and TV diet the last year or so have been decidedly cute, and not just from a villain-loving perspective. But it may - and this is why I worry about it - be a sign that I'm getting older. When you're in your twenties, you tend not to care about appearances that much when contemplating men, and certainly not about youth. Why, you've got it yourself, haven't you? Memories of the unlovely teenagers who harassed you at school are still vivid enough for the term "pretty boy" to sound like an oxymoron. That's at least how it was for me. Now I've acquired the "maturity" I hankered after as a young thing, other characteristics start to gain in importance and attractiveness. Like cheekbones. Not to put too fine a point on it, I'm in danger of becoming a dirty old woman (with time - it's not as if I'm old yet).

"Dirty old woman" is not a phrase you encounter that often, but I have the uneasy feeling it will become more and more common. It started with campaigns against "objectifying" led by angry women who'd had enough of being ogled by drips. There was much talk of such things as "the male gaze". Now, I understand these women's predicament, but really only all-out babes are ogled to such a degree that it becomes oppressive. Because these stunners object so strongly against being "objectified", however, men are intimidated and women like myself, who could do with a bit of objectification now and then, get even less of it than we used to. But the unkindest cut of all is that now men have caught on to the notion. I remember how shocked I was when I first came across the complaint from men (in a newspaper article) that they do not want to be eyed up by women as they feel demeaned by it, poor dears. So, to sum up: not only do I have to forgo any scrap of "male gaze" that might have come my way because better-looking women are incensed by it; I should also please refrain from comfort fantasies that may be demeaning to men? More and more, I feel a serious grievance towards the babes who started all this. If men are not allowed to gaze, and women are not allowed to gaze, how will the human species survive?

Of course, I may be blaming the wrong people. Maybe men are being disingenuous when they claim that they cannot for the life of them determine when a flirtatious glance may be welcome, so therefore they will not flirt at all and expect us to behave with likewise propriety. Is it really that hard to crack the behaviour code? Exchanging smiles at the water-cooler: OK. Pinching your secretary's bottom: should be avoided (if she's your personal secretary, chances are she's not overly fond of you as it is). Concentrating on a woman's legs when she's telling you things of vital importance for the company you work for: downright daft.

Once again, fictional villains come up trumps - not only are they not able to complain against being "objectified", they would never entertaining the notion for a second if they could complain. So I can keep objectifying away. I'll have to watch my new-found interest in good-looking men, however. Slim prettiness is all right and eminently villain-compatible (though an admiration for that kind of looks can lead to difficulties in real life - men have a tendency to snaffle the prettiest of their own sex themselves). But when I start admiring muscles and the tall, sturdy ape-man type, then I'll know that I've gone too far.