Online Streaming and the Sexualization of Women : Who’s Really to Blame?

NYMG is by no means new to streaming on Twitch and we’re certainly not new to talking about it. (Sarah’s mentioned her own plights as a woman streaming here and Alex comments on her love for the gaming community in Twitch here); I, however, I’m just getting my feet wet. With our recent campaign to raise money for the National Breast Cancer Foundation, a bunch of us hopped online to stream various games for blocks of time equating to a total of 24 hours of streaming. Out of that 24 hour period, I personally spent roughly 8 hours of my own time fighting zombies in State of Decay and starting This War of Mine: The Little Ones. It should be noted: I’m pretty hilarious – in a PG-13 kind of way (come watch sometime: NYMGamer_Ashtag). Historically, I’ve also died a lot in SoD, resulting in a month long hiatus from actually opening it back up — I was really just trying to spare my controller from being angrily shattered to pieces). This time, however, I stayed alive for a whole 3.5 hours without having to pull the plug before my beloved Marcus fell victim to my poor fighting skills. I got better, and I got better because I became involved in a community that was welcoming, encouraging, hilarious, and willing to teach me some new things along the way. Unfortunately, as a woman, female, girl – whichever you prefer – streaming doesn’t come without its host of sexist, hostile, and unwarranted commentary from men.

Picture this:

My hair is a disarray of a frizzy pineapple on my head, my face is still pretty crusty from the remnants of not enough sleep, I’ve got over-sized sweatpants on, two pairs of socks, a t-shirt that’s big enough to camp in, and my pink and green frog robe – I’m literally covered from head to toe for no other reason than I hate being cold. And I’m certainly not inviting catcalls (disclaimer: regardless of what we wear, it’s all unwarranted, inappropriate, and unacceptable. Stop.). Nonetheless, about two hours into to my amazing stream time, here he comes: the guy who thinks that raising money to #savetheboobies means I need to flash mine. Why yes, I would like to strip on Twitch instead of shooting zombies in the head. Thanks for reminding me of that. Because I was in so entrenched in playing, I really didn’t pay much attention to him – he was an annoying fly that eventually went on and returned to his pile of poo. What I did realize was an ally stepping in and having my back (he was also the same ally that was promoting NYMG’s fundraiser for NBCF, hopping from one Twitch account to another, and being an ally to many of us women encountering poo-eating flies in our live gaming experiences. Thanks ally.). It wasn’t until later, when I was rooting for and watching Bianca stream, that I realized the impact that fleeting comment had as I observed the same thing happening to a fellow colleague and friend who was also dressed in such a way that says: Why do I live in state where the air hurts my face?

These various thoughts and observations led to some more thoughts and observations on the way society views victims of sexual assault, particularly women: What were you wearing? What did you do? Did you provoke them? Did you fight back? How are you going to handle this when it happens again because, obviously, it will because you obviously invite it? We’retold, as women, that it’s not them – the ones committing the heinous acts of assault against our persons—that are in the wrong; it’s us. Our presence elicits our victimization.  

More recently, the argument isn’t about us invading the Boy’s Club of gaming (online); the argument is centered on what we wear when we do. My question is: who the *bleep* cares? As a woman who enjoys my agency of choice, I refuse to buy into the claims that women who dress in spaghetti-strap shirts in which a little bit (or a lot a bit) of cleavage may be shown are the cause of why my fully clothed body was harassed. In his article, Nathan Grayson talks about how Sky Williams, for example, decided to take it upon himself as a male voice to somehow speak for me and all women (?):

“…skin-showing women streamers are partially responsible for continued online harassment of women, claiming that their behavior encourages people to keep saying stuff like, “show ur boobs” to any women streamers they might come across.”

Have a look for yourself:

The whole argument has quickly become cyclical and it only promotes body shaming, slut-shaming, and excuses for inappropriate behavior (from the perpetrators) to continue. The default assumption is that women should cover up, that women need to police or surveil themselves in order to adhere to normative notions of what is right and proper or sweet and docile. Essentially, women are to blame. Always. Rather than turning the argument around on the (usually) men who sexualize women, the men who objectify women, the men who harass women, women become scapegoats of blame. I suppose it’s easier to blame me for being a woman that it is to blame the systemic patriarchal structures that normalize the sexualization and fetishization of women’s bodies (I have to credit Bianca — our thoughts have become one here). I call bullshit.

The notion that I have to police my body, my clothing while streaming in order to avoid being sexualized by men is nothing short of an injustice. Let’s also take into consideration the hyper-sexualized creations of women in games. It’s the other side of coin: Women’s bodies are on display when it benefits the male gaze, the male appetite for skin. Yet, when my body becomes my own for my own pleasure, I’m called out, we’re (collective womanhood here) shamed into being policed. How dare we find comfort, pleasure, and acceptance within these bodies of ours.

To be sure, this isn’t going to keep me from streaming; I very much love the community of gamers who have some decency about themselves and many of whom have become allies of mine. I may also be addicted to it — streaming certainly brings in a new layer of complexity to gaming, one I find quite interesting and hope to explore in later posts. This also won’t be the last of my comments on this matter, as I believe our voices are important to the movement of equality for women’s rights — rights to our own person, our agency, our being. I hope you’ll join me.