Subverting Your Own Voyeur: The Internalized Male Gaze in Broad City

Source: Matthew Peyton/Comedy Central

BY STAFF WRITER EVA VESELY ‘24

During a recent bout of lockdown-induced boredom, my sister and I decided to rewatch the Comedy Central sitcom Broad City. This show holds a special place in both of our hearts. My sister, who enjoys comedy writing as a hobby, especially admires the creators Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson for turning their YouTube web series—which they wrote, produced, and starred in themselves—into a TV production. 

Loosely based on Glazer and Jacobson’s own lives, Broad City features the bizarre, almost absurd, adventures of two eccentric women who live in New York City, which include anything and everything from attending a dog wedding in Central Park to attempting to sneak a couch into a Lil Wayne concert. In between episodes, my sister and I would marvel at the show’s unique humor and debate which one of us was Illana or Abbi. But, in the true spirit of TV binging, we never really stopped to consider why the series resonated with us so deeply—that is, until my sister shared her experience of watching Broad City with a male friend. Despite thinking the series was well-written, my sister’s friend admitted that he didn’t quite understand the humor—or rather, he felt like the humor wasn’t written for him. After hearing this anecdote and closely examining the show’s relation to the male gaze, I began to understand why Broad City may not immediately resonate with a cis male audience—and why watching it has always been such a different experience from watching my other favorite shows.  

In her novel The Robber Bride, Margaret Atwood offers a grim perspective on female expression: “Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” The male gaze—or the objectification of women in media for the pleasure of the heterosexual male viewer—has existed in feminist theory since the 1970s, when Laura Mulvey introduced the concept in her essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”. Atwood’s novel, however, defines the internalized male gaze: the idea that women perpetually perceive themselves from the perspective of an external male viewer—even when they’re completely alone. As I became more aware of my everyday behavior after learning this term, I was shocked by how often I seemed to be performing for an unnamed, invisible audience. I began seeing the influence of the male gaze everywhere I looked. 

One Google search for “Broad City + feminism” will yield millions of results pointing out feminist moments in the show. At first, this surprised me. While watching Broad City, I never got the sense that the show has a feminist agenda—instead, it presents the experience of being a woman in NYC in a candid, genuine, and often explicit manner. Even moments when characters directly combat misogyny, such as when Ilana and Abbi flip off a cat-caller, only exist to offer a more realistic representation of life as a woman. Given that sexism is inevitable in the lives of females, the series would not be an accurate portrayal of womanhood without it. At first, Broad City’s realistic depiction of the female experience seemed less intentional and more like a natural side effect of it being created by women. After learning more about Atwood’s theory, however, I realized that a piece of media being created by women doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s meant for a female audience: the real root of why Broad City is so feminist is the way it effectively subverts the internalized male gaze. 

Instead of existing as objects of fascination, Ilana and Abbi are presented as real people: the show primarily focuses on the characters’ eccentric personalities, the wacky scenarios they end up in, and, most importantly, their deep friendship. The series frequently features the taboo sides of female reality—everything from menstruation to masturbation. For Abbi and Illana, no action is too “unladylike”. In fact, the characters aren’t even that likable most of the time. The show basically revolves around the pair acting obnoxiously in public, whether that be destroying a store display or ruining a party—yet it is the very raucousness of such acts that illuminates the absurdity of life in New York so successfully. The characters are also known for ignoring their professional and familial responsibilities and for struggling with typical adult tasks. Both women are dysfunctional in relationships, often hurting their partners due to lack of emotional maturity or fear of communication. All of these traits contribute to the show's subversion of the gaze: the characters truly don’t care about how society thinks they should behave as women, and because of this Abbi and Illana are able to reclaim narratives and stories commonly reserved for men. The reason my sister and I found Broad City so uniquely hilarious was not only because it was so true, but because it presented a truth very rarely depicted in the media. 

Even when the characters dress up for a night out, a situation wherein viewers may expect the emphasis to be placed on the women’s physical appearances, the show highlights the empowerment and excitement the pair feel—not necessarily the way they look. For instance, in Season 4 Episode 3, when Illana picks up Abbi while tossing wads of cash out of a limousine window, viewers are invited to place themselves in her shoes and feel her excitement. Her appearance, though certainly glamorous with a skin-tight outfit and a full face of makeup, still feels realistic and human, as though it is a natural form of expression and source of empowerment for the character rather than a way to alienate female viewers with displays of “ideal” beauty. Watching Illana and Abbi makes me feel like I’m seeing women behave in a way that isn’t intended for a male audience, which is the reason I found the series so refreshing.  

My favorite aspect of Broad City, however, is its influence on my own relationship with the male gaze. Illana and Abbi’s subjugation of societal norms is practically contagious, inspiring me to take a second look at my own behavior and what it’s influenced by. Ever since I started asking myself, “What would Abbi and Illana do?”, I’ve become more comfortable with acting and presenting myself in ways that feel true to me, rather than to the perpetually hovering, invisible male viewer that I’ve grown so used to living with.