A man’s gaze – Being a “Good Man” as a photographer of the feminine: Unseen Legacies and Silent Expectations and male gaze

🌿 A man’s gaze – A Series to Explore Vision, the Body, and Image as a photographer of the feminine - male gaze

This is the first in a series of articles I’ve titled A Man’s Gaze.It’s a personal, artistic, and human journey to question my place as a photographer — and as a man — in the way I see, frame, and create images of the feminine.

Because lately, the world is shifting. And so are the ways we see.

The MeToo movement, disruptive works like The Substance, public conversations around the male gaze, and invisible power dynamics — all of this deeply resonates with me.

Rather than turn away from these questions, I’ve chosen to meet them head-on.Not to judge or feel guilty, but to understand what might still unconsciously shape my images — and how I can begin to free myself from it.

In that same spirit, I’m currently conducting a qualitative study based on an empathic questionnaire for women who have been photographed. Their voices will enrich future articles in this series, helping us uncover a more nuanced, shared understanding of the photographic relationship.

A Personal, Paradoxical personal story

I was born in a strange era. Too young for the revolutionary spirit of May '68 in France, but old enough to feel its aftershocks. I came of age in the 1980s, caught between two worlds: one of sexual liberation, still romanticized by our parents — and another marked by a new kind of fear, cold and invisible. It was called AIDS.

In dark movie theaters, I discovered films like Les Valseuses, where nudity, desire, irreverence, and defiance exploded on screen like calls to live freely. But in our real lives, something was already blocked. Fear. Guilt. The pressure to be “good.”And above all… to be a good man.

I was raised surrounded by sisters and female cousins

I grew up in a deeply feminine environment — sisters, female cousins, strong and sensitive women who were loving… and demanding.

Being a good man in that world meant staying quiet.Not being like “the others” — the ones who were blamed.It meant being gentle, understanding, never intrusive. Not desiring too much.

No one ever said it outright. It was more subtle — woven into looks, silences, and the way compliments were reserved for well-behaved boys.And I wanted to be that boy. Even though something in me was already starting to rebel.

My Father’s Silence — and His Choices

My father was a painter in his youth.He drew, he created, he dreamed of freedom.

Then he became a father… and did what he thought was right.He put everything away.His brushes. His canvases. His dreams.

He “insured.” He provided.

He became an insurance salesman. I’m not making this up.

But he never said, “Follow your art.”

Instead, through his actions, I received the message: :

“Don’t do it. You’ll starve.”And in his sighs more than in his words:“Be better than me. Even if what you do feels worthless.”"

A Double Inheritance. A Double Trap.

From the women: Be kind. Be smooth. Be faultless.From the men: Don’t be an artist. Don’t be a dreamer. Don’t ruin your life.

So what do you do when you carry the heart of a teenager inside the body of a well-mannered adult?When you look at the world through a lens — and feel that your gaze is at once inherited, haunted, and deeply drawn to the living?

What I’m exploring here is not just an artistic stance.It’s an unconscious pact. A tangle of invisible loyalties. Demands that still shape my gestures, my lighting choices, my framing — even my silences.

As a man. As an artist. As a photographer of the feminine.

What Does It Mean to Be a “Good Man”…

…if it means sacrificing everything in me that feels alive, vibrant, free — and sometimes disturbing?

And then there’s that word: bonhomme.In French, a “bon homme” (a good man) is often expected to become a bonhomme — slang for a “real guy.”

You know the type: tough, stoic, protective. Doesn’t cry. When someone tells you: “You’re a real man,” they rarely mean it as a compliment to your sensitivity or depth. They mean you took the hit — and kept your mouth shut.

So I wonder: Can we still be good men without becoming hardened, locked-up real men?

What if tomorrow’s man was neither soft nor tough — but whole?

This post is the first in a series.It’s not here to give answers.It’s here to ask the right questions — the ones that shake us. The ones that move us forward.

Stay tuned for what’s next.

Yohann Elhadad - author of the article: A man’s gaze – A Series to Explore Vision, the Body, and Image as a photographer of the feminine - male gaze