Queering the Flâneur: Constructing Identity Through Thoughtful Wandering

by Anežka Turek // @a.nezka

Perhaps it is impossible to imagine something we have not experienced, to picture a location or a space in an era we have not, and will not, live through. When attempting to visualise the bustling streets of 19th century Paris or London for example, the likelihood of accurately capturing such a scene seems a distant one. To many, these locations are familiar. They are, after all, the thriving capital cities of notable tourist spots, but placing them in decade two-hundred years prior to today appears difficult. For the context of this article however, it must be attempted, if only for a brief moment.

Envision that the year is 1872, a crisp autumn afternoon in central Paris. To set the scene, cobbled pavestones line the streets and horse drawn carriages are the main form of transport. Although busy and full of life, the city during this time would have been an especially male dominated sphere in every aspect. Women, in fact, were not permitted to roam amongst an urban environment of this sort without being accompanied by a man. Gazing upon this social scene, a strong class divide would have been immediately obvious. Paris as a metropolis has long provided a number of opportunities for socialisation and wealth. As a result, it would have been commonplace to witness the sauntering of a Victorian gentleman on his way to work, smartly dressed in a three-piece suit, perhaps even a top hat. This setting is a particularly relevant one to acknowledge, because it can be recognised as a home of sorts for the flâneur.

Most frequently referenced within the 19th century literature of modernity, the flâneur has been historically presented as an archetypal urban explorer and observer of the public sphere. Derived from the French masculine noun for ‘stroller’, he is an individual that is historically portrayed as being an aloof wanderer of the city. To outline the role of a flâneur in brief terms, would be to recognise his position as a figure who is sometimes observed by city occupants, but never stopped or addressed. Existing somewhat inconspicuously in the densely populated space of the metropolis, he is a crowd watcher and keen spectator of new inventions linked to contemporary life. A key factor, one arguably unsurprising considering the extent women to which women were overlooked during this era, is that the flâneur has almost exclusively been portrayed as male. 

Within the last five decades most predominantly, feminist theorists, academics and authors alike have argued for the possibility of a female equivalent. Many, suggest the term ‘flâneuse’ for such a character, others simply a ‘female flâneur.’ Fundamental differences in regard to gender equality would have rendered this prospect impossible during the 19th century. In many ways, the ever-evolving movement towards equal rights for all genders implies that a female flâneur could indeed exist in present day. 

Navigating urban space can certainly be recognised as a gendered experience. In a survey conducted by plan international during the UK’s first lockdown in April, 1 in 5 women reported having experienced some form of street harassment within the last month. Walking with a level of caution and vigilance, particularly at night, is unfortunately a routine part of womanhood. With this in mind, the experience of female flâneur may be increasingly different compared to her male counterpart, especially in relation to undisturbed wandering.

Like many theorists, I too believe that the flâneur has the capacity to be reinvented. Rather than an exact mirror image or replica of its 19th context, this figure could potentially take on a more diverse form, regardless of gender, sexuality, race or class. Reflecting on my own experience being both queer and AFAB, I have found walking, in a way somewhat similar to that of the flâneur, to have played a significant role in my own construction of identity. 

Throughout my life I have often considered aimless wandering to be a sort of thinking tool. A relatively effortless and distracted way of constructing thought. In my childhood specifically, I recall the familiar act of trudging through the muddy terrain that comes hand in hand with living in the rural Sussex countryside. The daily routine of observing the endless stretch of green fields, forest and shrubs. Although picturesque in hindsight, this used to be something I never enjoyed it much. The cons, most notably damp socks and wind burned ears in winter, seemed to outweigh the pros. 

In many ways, my relationship with strolling through the city has evolved throughout the last five years. Moving to London in 2017 for university, I distinctly remember the feeling of putting in headphones just to remove them moments later, instead playing close attention to the rhythm and temporalities present within the capital’s surroundings. Often, I would spend hours walking without a real purpose or end destination, walking to get lost, to people watch, observe, and become immersed in the pleasant chaos of city life. Much like a modern-day flâneur, this experience has consistently provided the opportunity to roam free of interruption, a chance to exist largely unobserved by onlookers.

There have been times, maybe even subconsciously, where this form of city watching has incorporated an influential queer element. One outside of direct embodied experience. On many occasions I have walked through Soho with the sole intention of observing its many LGBTQI+ safes spaces, clubs, bars and pubs. It is in this setting particularly that I enjoy reflecting,  a contemporary way of simply gazing upon the urban spectacle, one with crowds that are varied and diverse. For me, there is a certain comfort and familiarity that comes from casually existing amongst these spaces, even in the context of just passing through. Perhaps this can be described as a sense of unspoken community, knowing that essentially, maybe even in many ways, we all share something in common. 

There’s no denying that words and their meanings change over time, certainly in the two centuries since the flâneur first gained its definition. It’s true that in the context of the 1800s, a flâneur certainly would not have wandered with headphones, nor through Soho as we recognise it in the 21st century. Whilst the society of present day becomes increasingly equalised, so does the opportunity for historical characters to be reinvented. Whether or not my own experience with city strolling can be compared to that of a flâneur is open to debate. If some of the integral qualities for such a character include a keen interest in the urban sphere and care-free sauntering, then maybe this is a role many can relate to. It’s clear that this individual can exist in a far more diverse way than once described in the literature of modernity, by this standard perhaps presenting the flâneur as queer both and genderless is a very real possibility.