Modesty culture & the male gaze
Religious patriarchy vs. patriarchal beauty standards
A Note From Megan | Publication Date: May 19th, 2026
Something that’s been on my mind quite a bit over the past few weeks has to do with the complexity of trying to deconstruct the modesty standards imposed by many high-control religions while still existing within a deeply patriarchal, misogynistic culture.
Here’s where I get stuck.
I obviously no longer believe that it’s a woman’s job to “protect” the morality and sexual thought lives of men by dressing modestly.
Also, I think what religion often casts as “lust” and therefore “sinful” is frequently just benign sexual desire or fantasy flitting in and out of consciousness. Sexual thoughts truly don’t have to mean anything.
However, I also think that even outside of high-control religion, women living in a deeply patriarchal culture like the U.S. often internalize the “male gaze” and absorb messages about how our bodies should look, dress, and exist in public.
High-control religions and their various versions of modesty culture are certainly one type of male gaze, where women are expected to cover up in order to protect men. But outside of religion, women are still conditioned to dress or groom themselves in accordance with what men do or don’t want to see.
Which raises the question, is “dressing sexy” as a rebellion against purity culture really as empowering as it seems on the surface? Or, has it really become just another way of being in service to the “male gaze?”
The “male gaze” is a term that was first coined by British film theorist Laura Mulvey in her 1975 essay Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. The concept of the male gaze is meant to capture the way women were often depicted in visual arts, literature, and media through a heterosexual male perspective.
Since then, the concept has expanded beyond film theory and is now often used more broadly to describe how women internalize cultural messages about how they should look, behave, and present themselves in ways that appeal to men.
I’ll admit, it’s only been within the last decade or so that I even heard the term “the male gaze,” but when I did, it was like a thousand lightbulbs exploded in my brain.
As someone who was raised to hyper-vigilantly assess my appearance, my body, and my clothing choices in light of how it might affect men, letting go of religious rules didn’t automatically stop this behavior. It only shifted the goal of the behavior.
Whereas I once performed to “protect” men, I later found myself still performing in numerous ways to be aesthetically pleasing to men.
Here’s how I see it now:
Even though I no longer assessed my appearance and general presentation through the lens of religious morality, I still continued to assess myself through a very specific lens—the lens of the male gaze.
While I would like to report that this is something I noticed, worked through, and no longer deal with, the reality is that patriarchal beauty standards are so culturally ubiquitous, it’s hard to even know what my preferences are in regards to my body and appearance in light of what I’ve internalized from years and years of patriarchal conditioning.
I was sensitized very early on, even before I hit puberty, to be aware of the impact my appearance might have on men. And failure to perform in narrowly defined, gender-prescribed ways came with consequences that were both tangible and moral.
While leaving religion certainly loosened the grip of rules-based performance, I was left trying to figure out a whole new set of unspoken but deeply felt “rules” for moving through a culture that imposes a whole other set of requirements.
Initially, wearing clothing that would have been considered “immodest” within a purity culture framework felt subversive and empowering. And at the time, I do think it was an important part of my self-discovery and development process.
But eventually I realized that I was still engaging with my body and my appearance in an objectified way as I was frequently preoccupied by how I could best manipulate its size and shape and adornments to meet these other standards that I was now becoming acclimatized to—patriarchal beauty standards.
Having this realization has complicated the sense of empowerment I once felt in shucking the old modesty culture rules as I try to figure out what actually feels good to me. Why I’m choosing to wear make-up or style my hair a certain way or dress in certain clothes. Even thinking about the role of diet culture and exercise and body size. Or grooming habits that are distinctly aligned with patriarchal beauty standards.
I certainly don’t think purity culture’s modesty standards were better for women. What I’m really trying to put my finger on here is how many women who were indoctrinated into purity culture may still carry a hyper-sensitive internalized male gaze that continues to influence how we move through the world, even after fully deconstructing toxic religious beliefs.
The reality is that this is still an ongoing project for me, and I’m sure it is for many others as well.
Though this Note has mostly focused on how patriarchal beauty standards show up in women’s day-to-day lives, I don’t think this is only a problem for women to confront. Men have work to do here too.
If you’ve ever had a strong opinion about what women “should” look like, wear, shave, weigh, or hide, it’s worth getting curious about where those preferences came from—and who they ultimately serve.
Because a lot of what we’ve been taught to see as “attractive” or “normal” has been shaped by patriarchal beauty standards. And it’s incredibly hard for women to fully step outside the impact of the male gaze if men aren’t willing to examine the lens and the behaviors that keep it in place.