Two weeks ago, I attended a function in a somewhat revealing dress. The steel-grey garment stretched like a bandage over my hips and stomach; cut off only to reveal a small display of cleavage. As I scraped together a mouthful of rice onto my fork, I could hear the smutty murmurs of men twice my age sitting opposite me. Their heated gazes were hot on my skin. They insisted amongst one another that they didn't know "where to look"; as if my body was an object so intrusive, distracting and perhaps even tempting, they had to consciously restrict themselves from indulging in its appearance.

It's never a surprising act to witness: the objectification of women, that is. We have come to be conscious of the way in which women's bodies are sought after from an early age. School tunics that happen to fall above the knee are a 'distraction' even for boys whose voices haven't yet broken. Nipples are sexualised so much so that social media campaigns designed to aid women in detecting breast cancer have male sub-ins, as women are not allowed to reveal their breasts even in the name of women's health. If a woman is sexually assaulted, she has to fight to prove that her body is not a refuge; that it, in and of itself, did not excuse her abuser's actions. Our bodies have been seized by men, and we have been fed myths about the way they function. They are seen as appetising conquests.

"When I refuse to eat animals, I refuse to indulge in a system that profits off objectification." Credit:Jesse Morrow/Stocksy

Neither is it surprising to witness the way in which animals are seen merely as human possessions. Advertisements for meat are so normalised, it's often easy to forget the bloodshed and slaughter behind the festive, decorative plate. Domesticated animals are artificially revised to appear cuter. Certain dog breeds are a cringeworthy display of physical discomfort and premature death just to cater for a human's preference to see something 'adorable'. Animals are worn, eaten, abused, owned, hunted and gawked at without their consent.

Women and animals alike are objects men fancy; palatable things to eat, if you will. They satisfy intrinsically masculine demands. They are accessories, perhaps; designed to prove that a man's masculinity is in tact. When Johnny Diablo, founder of the world's first vegan strip club, Casa Diablo Gentlemen's Club, employed with embarrassing gusto the tag-line "we put the meat on the pole, not on the plate", he demonstrated just how deeply entrenched the psychological need to devour one or the other (women, or animals) was in the face of masculinity.