You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur. — Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride
I’m sure you have had such an instance: You decide to create, but it’s agonizing over how much you’re judging it as you go. You have your first draft. Something in you withers as you look on. Sure, you remind yourself that it’s meant to be bad and is open to improvement, but even then, there’s a snarky little voice telling you: “Man, that sure didn’t live up to my expectations. It sucks.”. It did not leave you alone throughout the process, scrutinizing, judging, nitpicking from start to end. You feel exposed and demoralized.
Many of us relate with the feeling of being eternally watched, centered on a stage for an audience of expectant spectators. Maybe that’s why you fiddle with your hair constantly, why you keep your lips somewhat pouted. Maybe that’s why you wouldn’t dare walk any other way even if it’s unnatural to you. There are people watching, recording, observing.
This sentiment has seeped into many parts of the human condition we deem more ‘mysterious’, such as a beautiful woman’s routine, or a compelling artist’s creative process. There was always some sort of curious attitude towards how artists behaved in private, their own unique rituals of creation. However, this sentiment has increased in today’s world where we are seeing growing patterns of enabling voyeurism, and oversharing responses to satisfy it, rather than tame it.
When our entire lives become a show meant to gather views, the most sound course of action is to put on a best face. This voyeurism isn’t going anywhere, so we might as well make its experience enjoyable, whether that be looking your best, sharing only your best work… How many of us have an existential crisis when someone asks if they can see our writing/art/music/ect., while sifting through which one is the most presentable piece for this viewer? How many of us associate our ‘behind the scenes’ with feeling horribly naked, as if we have been caught red-handed in deception?
The ‘behind the scenes’ are supposed to be a safe haven, a place to be wrong and ugly and everything else of that vein. The freedom to be messy is a crucial part of bringing anew concept into existence. Unfortunately, even that safety is taken away once you become your own voyeur. It is already bad enough to feel this outsider’s scrutinizing eye on you (From a judge, a spectator…). But when you’re unsafe from your own, much of the positive side of creating is unfelt, unseen, unknown. This is when creation turns into a judging fest of insecurity, as with the scenario above. To be your own voyeur is to lose any sense of peace or security in the process.
I won’t lie; Despite my efforts not to, I still subscribe to this archetype and this culture. Even now as I write, part of my brain is regulating it based on whether this will get views and possibly give me a good image, authenticity be damned. I still scrutinize my creations along every step, even if I know that this is a product of my inner voyeur, molded by conscious biases I wasn’t born with, that do not resonate with me.
What are we, as creatives, to do? Have we hit a point of no return? Though this issue is much larger than the personal cadre, there are ways to deal with it. A simple one is implementing privacy in your surroundings. Since contemporary voyeurism is fueled by constant records, or ‘putting on a show’, I often enjoy going to a secluded spot to write. It might be your room, the roof of your building, an abandoned little garden… If you know you’re going to be alone in there, that’s good. Though the critic might rage on, the change in environment may helps in keeping it quiet. After all, your surroundings impact your state of mind.
While this could be cliché, I will mention the importance of tackling said inner critic, questioning its verdicts: Is this judgement constructive? Can this enrich my experience? Or is it making me hate the hour I started this piece? Question it, break it apart, dismantle it into an incoherent body. I’m sure we all have much deconstruction to do when it comes to being our own voyeurs, as well as how it has negatively impacted our private and creative lives.
