Laura Mulvey is a world-famous British feminist theorist who gave us the phrase "male gaze." It's basically the theory that many films, commercials, and media are made from a male point of view. It doesn't just mean that men are the main characters here—also that women are being shown in a way that caters to men. The camera lingers over their bodies, contemplates their beauty, and rarely ever grants them agency or power within the story. Women are objectified as opposed to being complete people with ideas and agency. Mulvey believed that even though we usually don't even realize it, we've been trained to look at media in this way—to enjoy women as passive objects and expect them to be there to "beautify" a scene, not drive it.
Using this model, I closely analyzed the Glo Christmas commercial titled "Feliz Navidad Nigeria! " The ad is supposed to be a colorful, vibrant Nigerian Christmas celebration, full of dancing, eating, and family fun. On the surface, it does appear to be warm and inviting, with lots of folks laughing, cooking, and exchanging presents.". But if you look at it from the male gaze theory of Mulvey, it's very clear that the women in the video, especially the Black women, exist primarily to be looked at instead of engaging. Their gazes are foregrounded, their clothes and bodies are filmed to be noticed, but they're not really saying much.
Using the TSC method (Theory, Scene, Comment), I’ll break down exactly how that happens in some key scenes. At the very start of the video, there’s a kitchen scene where food is being prepared. A woman stands off to the side, stirring a pot. She glances up and smiles softly. The camera doesn’t stay with her for long—it moves on quickly. She doesn’t say anything. She isn’t introduced. In fact, blink and you'll miss her entirely. But what this shot tells us is a lot. Mulvey's theory educates us that this kind of shot is standard—women are introduced into scenes so that they "feel" festive or festive, but they are not given any real meaning. This woman's smile adds to the feel of the holiday, but she doesn't do anything that has meaning to the story. She's in there for the scenery only. This is the kind of background presence that women are often relegated to decoration in the media.
She's there, but not really seen. Through the rest of the ad, there are more active shots—music, dancing, and colorful clothes. There's one where a young woman dances happily in traditional Nigerian dress. Her waist bounces with the rhythm, and the camera focuses on her motion. It's brief, but it's hard to miss the manner in which the camera zeros in on how her body moves. She never speaks. She doesn't even communicate with people. She's dancing, by herself, for the camera. This is where Mulvey's male gaze really does come through. The ad makes her into something pleasant to behold, rather than a full person. Her function is purely visual. She's not being spoken to, not telling her own story—she's standing there to be gazed at. Even in a holiday family advert, there's this underlying attitude of sexualizing her action.
It speaks volumes about how deeply the male gaze has taken hold in media, even when the content itself is intended to be wholesome. Afterwards there's a serene, cozy moment where women are decorating a Christmas tree together. They're all in tight blouses and brightly colored wrappers, smiling and draping tinsel in a warm radiance. The colors are nice. But still, no one says anything. They're clearly intended to depict happiness and closeness, but they do nothing more than that. Their movements, makeup, and clothing are clearly intended to be gratifying to the eyes, and that is where their purpose ends. This is where women are applied in media, as Mulvey explains—to add to the emotional atmosphere of a scene but not actually contribute anything to the richness. These women cannot occupy narrative space. They're utilized instead as beautiful ornaments.
Their smile and clothes sell the celebratory message of the ad, but their silence tells us that they're not actually leading it. One of the most compelling evidence of the male gaze in this ad is in the voiceover. We only hear one voice throughout the video, and that one voice is a man's. He speaks to us, saying, "Spread the unlimited joy," and when his voice is heard, we see different people—women, mostly—laughing, dancing, hugging, and decorating. And the women don't talk. We never get to hear them speak, describe to us what joy means to them, or share anything about themselves. This is perfectly in accordance with Mulvey's theory. The voice, the message, the control over the narrative—all belong to the man. The women are shown to be happy, but they're never allowed to become the authorities on what joy on their terms is. They're always on screen, but they have no agency in the narrative. They are felt, but not spoken.
It's another way in which the media keeps women in the background—shutting them up. There's also a pleasant scene when a man presents a gift to a woman. She looks surprised and overjoyed, and the camera catches her emotional reaction well. Her eyes light up, her smile broadens, and she looks thoroughly moved. It's a lovely moment, but once more, she doesn't speak. She simply receives. The man does—it gives. The woman reacts. Mulvey discusses how male gaze isn't just about what we gaze at, but whose turn it is to do something. The man is the one to do something in this scene. The woman's only job is to be lovely and admire. This emphasizes a quiet message: men do, women react. She only exists in relation to how she reacts to him.
This is a small thing, but it's symptomatic of a broader problem of how women are built within the media—emotional expressives, certainly, but never doing anything actively. Throughout the ad, this same phenomenon continues to occur. The women are always in formal attire, with softly lit lighting, and appearing in celebratory, emotional moments. But no woman is ever in control of anything. We never actually see a woman leading the celebration or directing others into the home. There is no point where a woman utters something sincere, or even utters a line of dialogue. Instead, the women smile, hug, dance, and decorate—silently. This reveals that, although very much a part of the visuals, they are not a part of the story. The Glo ad is attempting to be inclusive but continues to rely on outdated notions. The women are included, yes—but for their appearance first and foremost. Their presence is observed, not heard.
And they just exist to support and look lovely. Mulvey's theory of the male gaze reminds us still that representation is not just putting women in the shot. It's who they're presented with, what they're doing, and whether and when they get to tell their own tale. In the Feliz Navidad Nigeria ad, women are literally present everywhere—but they aren't talking. They aren't empowered. They're not constructed as complicated, powerful, or even all that individual. They exist to make the scene look nice, to contribute emotion to the equation—but not much else. Even in a bright, sunny commercial like this one, the male gaze is still operating behind the scenes.
It sets up who gets to speak, who gets to perform, and who gets to exist solely in order to look attractive. If we consider it for a moment, this ad—like so many others—reminds us how Mulvey's theory is still so important today. Because in ways that we may not even be aware, we've trained ourselves to see women there but powerless, smiling but silenced. And until advertisements such as this begin giving women not only face time, but voice, story, and role, the male gaze will continue to determine what we see—and how we see each other.
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