On Venus In Leo, And On Women And Visibility

Image: Sara Shakeel

Something that's felt very present in the field during this summer's Venus Retrograde is the question of visibility — specifically that of women and femmes. Visibility becomes a question when two or more parties in society are not in agreement over who gets to be visible, in what way, and on whose terms. Visibility also becomes a question when we show ourselves, but aren't met with a basic recognition of our humanity.

On her Substack, Mo (@australtaur) made a very keen observation about the refranation between Venus and Mars in the leadup to the retrograde: "Venus and Mars’ near collision in a very Mars-influenced segment of Leo brought very public instances of female celebrities being humbled or humiliated by their partners. The dynamic of being controlled or punished for the very qualities that made them attractive in the first place planted an important seed to be explored during this retrograde."

The instance that probably sparked the most discourse was Jonah Hill telling his pro surfer ex-girlfriend that if she wanted to be with him, she needed to respect his "boundaries," which weren't actually boundaries because they mostly involved things she wasn't allowed to do (like post pictures of herself in her bathing suit). Besides bringing attention to weaponized therapy-speak, this also raised a lot of discussion around the way insecure men will often pursue confident, radiant women and then try to control or smother her light once those same qualities become a threat to his ego. Sometimes, maybe oftentimes, men like this will specifically pursue confident women so that they can derive satisfaction from "putting her in her place."

On July 20, around the time of Venus' station, Parmida Shahbazi was arrested for defying Iranian hijab laws, and later made to give a forced confession on camera. A viral video of her echoed across the internet for a couple days as Venus halted in the sky, saying to her harasser, "I am a woman, and I will stand forever. I am not afraid of you, or anybody else."

All around the world, in different ways that originate from different cultural contexts, there are men attempting to cover women up who wish to be visible on their own terms, and there are men attempting to foist women into a type of visibility that caters to them. A great deal of the time, men will trespass upon a woman's self-presentation — a bit like a museum-goer disrespecting the art — and she is also expected to bear responsibility for this, for making herself available to be looked at in the first place.

I've been chewing on this notion of wanted versus unwanted attention, and how very often, the difference is that wanted attention brings you closer to yourself, whereas unwanted attention separates you from your personhood.

This all brings me back to a time when I was in my early 20s, brand new to New York City, and constantly on edge because I was being catcalled on a near-daily basis. Some of it was relatively benign in comparison to the occasional lewd gestures and even groping that happened once or twice on a crowded subway. But I was young, scrappy, pissed off at the unrelenting backdrop of leering stubbled grins that escorted me to work and back, and I was constantly ready to fight men who were twice my weight. Once, I lunged at a man on the sidewalk who made a vulgar comment at me, enough to make him stumble backwards in surprise. Another time, I actually slapped a guy in the face. I was walking past him down an escalator, and he gave me the up-down and said, "Nice." Nice, like I was a watch he was saving up for, or a convertible at a car show. Not a person, but an NPC to decorate his personal simulation, a pair of boobs on his boob safari.

I remember telling this story to a male roommate a couple years later. He looked at me like I was completely out of my mind and said, "You slapped a guy for saying 'nice?'" Internally, I was like, "yeah, bitch, and I'd do it again," but it was also interesting, and annoying, to observe the distance between our lived experiences in that moment. I could see how that could seem like a pretty mild thing to get upset about, to the point of physical retaliation even — if you're a man who's used to walking home in peace and having your humanity centered when someone's flirting with you. The interaction in question wasn't really flirting, by the way. I just don't know if there's an apt comparison to make here.

I don't think he was interested in trying to understand, but it would have been hard to explain to him how specifically irritating it is that some men simply cannot behold a woman without evaluating her appearance, even (and especially) when her looks are not a relevant part of why she's on stage, or on screen. Or that when they do this, it’s usually with the demeanor of someone who earnestly believes his judgments are Warranted and Important. That comments like those of Escalator Man are not compliments, or anything remotely like gassing up your friend for posting a sexy thirst trap, but an imposition and a power move. It's a subtle communication that says, "This is my personal gallery, and I get to assign you value, to hang you up or take you down like a painting that pleases or displeases me." You are not in my line of sight because you're spectacular, but because you're a spectacle for me. I think, if I'm not mistaken, this conversation took place around the time of the last Venus Retrograde in Leo.

As much as this whole meditation has been about gender politics (and is probably a bit basic on the scale of feminist discourse that's been done to death since the 2010s), I think there's a deeper relational truth to be unpacked here that anyone can sit with in a bid to Be Better To Each Other.

Everybody is a star, is a sun. We wake up and we greet the sun because we love its warmth, not because we think we can own the sun, trap the sun, make it shine only for us. The sun does not exist "for" us, but it is the reason we're here at all.

It's interesting that the people most likely to try to trap another person's light are the ones with solar deficiencies themselves: the insecure egos, those who outsource their self-esteem. This is a core wound that is reified into entire cultural institutions and -isms when self-esteem is sourced from "power over," rather than "power to."

Deepening into this Venus in Leo question might look like a subtle posture adjustment. We have to be responsible for finding and maintaining our own pilot light, but we can fan the flames for each other. We can hold up a mirror to reflect another person's brightness, to enhance and encourage it. We can choose the reflections of ourselves that look the most like love, without ever abandoning our primary knowing of ourselves. This is the solar principle in the context of a healthy relational web.