International Women's Day 2018
So I’ve embarked on a little social experiment.
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In honour of International Women’s
Day, and feeling empowered in unity and united in empowerment and all that,
I’ve tried something a bit different. I’ve decided to respond to every catcall
I've 'received' (for want of a better word) over the course of the day (SIDENOTE: THESE ARE UNWANTED; I AM BY NO MEANS BRAGGING.) Because, I’m not going to
lie, I have some burning questions and I know a lot of other girls do too!
Immediately, I would just like to
point out that I’m not here to take a stand on the “compliment vs harassment”
debate. That’s another topic entirely (but I think you can take a good guess as to where I stand.) I’m writing about the questions I have
surrounding the issues of catcalling – Why? What are you setting out to
achieve? How will you react when I stop and respond?
Let’s get some disclaimers out
there too: no-one can accuse me of being a girl who can't take a compliment.
Tell me you like my top, my hair, my shoes, and I'll not just thank you kindly
but tell you where you can get it for yourself. I also did this in what I would
consider very safe scenarios. Like, broad-daylight-main-road-people-everywhere
kinda safe – don’t worry Mum, I’m fine.
CC #1 – 10:04 am.
I’m walking to the gym and I am a
mess. My flatmates can vouch for it; when I wake up, I’m not pretty, nor am I
any more attractive with three-day-old, unwashed hair slicked into a low bun in
mismatched socks and gym shorts *sidenote, I have yesterday’s mascara clumped
on my lashes. Fit.* My headphones are in and I’m blasting Red Hot Chilli
Peppers; I’m not to be disturbed this morning.
As I pass the construction site, I
hear a wolf-whistle clear as day and a shout and cackles of laughter. I can’t
be too certain, but I know I heard the word “legs.” And as I’m about to shrug
it off and ignore it, as per, I take out my ear phones and stop to ask:
“Pardon?”
The guys are taken aback. I repeat
my question. The silence is deliciously awkward and I’m inwardly jumping around
in delight. But I keep my cool; I raise my eyebrows, roll my eyes and continue
past the site into the gym. Behind me, the silence is booming louder than any drill
or machine. I smile (until I remember that I’m going into a gym and then
inwardly scream.)
CC #2 – 13:02 pm
I’m embarking on the strenuous 100
steps to the tube station from my flat, and…yep…more builders (Stepney Green’s gentrification
at its finest!) I already know what’s coming.
I saunter past and immediately feel
eyes burning, etching onto my skin, my clothes, my hair. It’s all quiet until
Mr. Observant shouts out to me, claiming that I look “so sad” and that he knows
“what would make pretty-girl happy.”
Well, first of all, I’m not
miserable (I’m actually in a pretty good mood) – that’s literally just my face.
Lol. Ok. Charming. (RBF problems amirite???)
I was going to let this one slide so I could continue on with my day,
until Mr. Observant’s pal Mr. Bright Ideas shouted at me to “smile more.” And
that did it for me. I turn round on my heel and, keeping my cool, say: “You do
realise that’s so inappropriate, right?”
Mr. Bright Ideas piped up with the
old “I’m just trying to brighten up your day.” Oh yeah. That one. Good
Samaritan.
It would have been so easy to blow
up and, oh my days, I nearly did: “Yeah, well, I don’t need you to. I’m fine.”
"I was...just
sayin'..." The man looked chastened.
“Yeah, well don’t.”
And I walked off.
CC #3 – approx. 15:45pm
Walking by Kings Cross after a trip to the library
and I bypass a Teenage Dirtbag (well, probably a little older but I like the nickname).
“Mmm,
beautiful," he said.
With my previous encounters,
I note I lacked conversation. I asked my questions and received no genuine response.
This time was slightly different.
I stopped and faced
him, looked him levelly in the eyes and told him: "You know, no one likes it
when you do that?"
And this guy was genuinely
stumped and surprised by my response. "What…huh…really?" he asked.
"Yes," I
explained. "No one. It's rude; it makes us feel uncomfortable. I don’t need
to hear it right now."
"Well, I wasn't
meaning to be rude. I’m sorry" I turned to walk away, and as I walked he
said, with what seemed to be genuine kindness: "You are lovely. God bless
you."
Retraining myself to stop, listen, and — hardest of all — be brave
enough to strike up a conversation with the men we’ve all ignored for so long
was no easy task. I wish I
could say that I had more concrete answers to the questions I set out to ask
these strangers and the information I wanted to find. I learned that for the
most part, these men are not looking for a response or expecting you to
actually stop and talk to them. I can
kind of gage, simply from today’s experiences, that perhaps they don’t really
know why they do it.
But I don't regret the fact that I didn't try to make them understand why
they shouldn't catcall.
How can you explain to a stranger that a compliment makes us weary? That
words like sexy and beautiful sound like threats when we hear
them whispered to us on an empty street late at night? That we feel objectified,
uncomfortable, kind of scared when
you say this to us while we're going about our normal routine in bustling
daytime, not outwardly asking for judgement? That this thing you might do for
fun is at the expense of our peace of mind?
It’s definitely not a quick word you can have with a stranger on a street
corner. It needs to be part of a bigger conversation, earlier on, by the people
who are in charge of shaping you into a respectable human. We're being taught
as young women not to respond to this kind of attention; why aren’t we teaching
young men to avoid this behaviour in the first place. If not, the so-called ‘Cats’
of the world will continue intimidating women for whatever reason, while we
keep finding ways to tolerate it.
And we shouldn't have to. No means No.
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