So yeah, I just experienced street harassment. And it's a reality for a lot of women, every day. And it made me mad because this is not my first introduction to the charming world of strange men scaring the bejeezus out of me because my being female and in their general vicinity apparently gives them the right.
I first got cat-called when I was about 15 years old. I was walking down the very same road I was walking on today, on my way to the high street, and I was wearing knee-length denim shorts. (I know. Sexy.)
Suddenly a lorry driver thundered past and wolf-whistled at me. I know it was me he was whistling at because I was the only person on that path, and once I'd stopped jumping out of my skin at the sudden loud noise I remember feeling this heady rush of flattery, because I didn't really get an awful lot of male attention as a teenager and at the time it felt like validation. All I wanted was to be attractive and it felt like I finally had proof that I was (and god just remembering this I want to shake my past-self by the shoulders and scream at her naivety I really do).
After that it would happen a couple of times a year, usually in summer (although not always) and that first time was the only time I felt flattered. After that initial exposure it felt like exactly what it was: an aggressive demand for my attention. Because cat-calling from a moving vehicle is not a compliment. I don't feel complimented when my heart's in my throat because some douchebag just screamed something unintelligible at me from a van window, or honked his emergency horn right in my goddamn earhole, and then continued driving past while I figure out what the hell's going on. When that happens I feel scared, because that's the natural response to sudden loud noises. And even if it is meant as a compliment (and it's not, it's really really not. Re-evaluate your definition of the word 'compliment' if you think that's the case) then I don't care. 'It's a compliment' is a blanket statement used to cover a multitude of sins because it makes us look ungrateful for objecting and I'm sick of it.
My sister works at a local pub that has a widely acknowledged, unspoken policy of only hiring good-looking bar staff. She took that as a compliment when she got the job. I took it as a sign of how the management there sees their employees - as little more than meat. Sure enough she's regularly trussed up in a variety of titillating outfits, ranging from 'Sexy Santa Shot-girl' to 'Booby Girl In Football Kit' - all in order to 'get the punters in'. She's regularly groped by colleagues and customers. The other night a guy backed her into a corner, tried to kiss her and shove his number into the waistband of her skirt, all after he and his mates had grabbed hold of her at the bar and refused to let her go until the bouncers stepped in. She is encouraged to dismiss all of this as 'banter' or 'just blokes being blokes'. And she does, because she considers herself one of the boys and she just wants to fit in. She doesn't want to seem like she can't take a joke. She doesn't want to be labelled as the bitch who ruins the party for everyone else.
And that's how we're made to feel when we speak up about things like street harassment or workplace harassment, or any kind of harassment. Because these guys are only bothering us because we're pretty, right? And we're supposed to appreciate that, aren't we? After all, it's just a bit of fun.
Well, no, actually. It's not. It's a deliberate act of intimidation, and I'm sorry but I'd rather feel safe walking around my home town at eleven thirty in the fucking morning than be considered attractive by the kind of moron who hangs out of his car window like a baboon while his mate honks the horn. It's not funny, it's not flattering, and it just makes the world that little bit worse to live in. So kindly fuck off.
