I Liked Being Catcalled - Taboo Tuesday #12

A couple weeks ago, I was walking down Santa Monica looking fresh as a muddafuckin prince.

Out of nowhere, this kid -- maybe 13-years-old (I could have birthed this little shit), flew past me on a skateboard and grabbed my ass.  

And I don't even mean brushed/slapped/embraced my ass. 

This gremlin-turd managed to finagle his hands BETWEEN the cheeks for a solid shake.

By the time I spun around he was nearly a block away. And the first thing that ran through my mind was -- who's going to look like the victim if I chase after this overdue abortion and knock him into a goddamn storm drain?

Ultimately I didn't do anything. Because I never do anything. Instead I just walked home, furious, muttering about the things I COULD have done while psychically trying to make the line of cars nearby forget what they witnessed.

Before this ass-ass-ination of my self-worth, I felt amazing. One of those good hair/good face/good clothes days. Suddenly I felt like shit. I felt dirty, vulnerable... invaded.

This child, someone who probably still eats Go Gurt and watches Sunday Morning cartoons, just made me feel powerless.

 Not the patriarchy! Nooooooo!

During the thirty minutes I walked back, I tried to think of something equivalent. Something I could tell him that would make him realize what it feels like to be walking down the street and have someone objectify you.

Because I get it. For many straight men, they just don't understand. Getting your ass touched by a girl in public might feel like a compliment. Women aren't expected to sexualize men, so when they do it can feel special, unique. 

You don't have to be wary about who you let stick their lumpy key into your lock.

You aren't a defeated conquest when someone gets into your pants -- you are the conqueror. So what would make this kid understand what it felt like to be violated in that way?

There isn't a perfect answer, which is why I think it's so hard to explain why cat calling (and its assault-y cousins) are more upsetting than complimenting.

You: "But Quinn, there's a big difference between assault and catcalling! How DARE you relate the two!"

Ah yes, clever Goblin Shark reading my blog. I have also heard the "not touching, can't get mad" defense.

And in the way my brother did when I attempted to use the same argument as a child, I will slap you down . But before that, let me talk about when I remember getting catcalled for the first time.

I was 12-years-old... and my body looked much the same as it does now.

 So trust me, no one thought I was an adult.

This was the year I learned that ten squirts of stolen perfume was not apparently an adequate replacement for deodorant, the most important thing in my life was keeping my Giga Pet alive, and I still wore t-shirts with holographic puppies on them.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

I literally was still buying chocolate milk for ten cents more when, on the weekend, a high schooler decided to eye up my penguin-like physique and follow me around a bookstore asking if I knew the "humpty-hump."

You: "Yeah but that's unusual. When I say that cat calling isn't so bad OBVIOUSLY I'm not talking about pedophiles."

Clearly, Goblin Shark, I get that a nearly grown-ass man who is sexualizing children isn't the norm... that it was an unfortunate situation. But it's also not wholly uncommon.

I'm not deluded. I don't think I was an exceptionally sexy kid.

Even though I am.

Go ahead, ask your female friends about the first time they remember being catcalled. I think you'll be surprised to learn that it starts early. Not every woman has a timer strapped across her tits, poised to go off when she turns 18 so that men can start ogling her.

But boy, Sharks, do I have a product for you.

And the effect of that attention, is that from a very early age lots of women are molded to believe that their bodies are on show for the men who treat them like they are. You feel like the thing that's important about you is the thing people 'compliment.' You aren't old enough to discern truly important things adults tell you from the shitty things adults tell you. 

That sexualization ends up getting all tied together with the other aspects of who you are and what you value, resulting, sometimes, in bad situations.

The catcalls increase as you age. As a teenager I dressed in certain ways because people responded to it. 

I was still a child and I was looking for affirmation from adults, as we all do. 

Then it got to the point where my age wasn't easily assumed anymore. A man would say something crude to me, only to blush and edge away after my mom would tell him I was underage.

Zing! Sweet mom burn!

By the time I WAS an adult, I actually felt reliant on catcalls. 

There were many times when I was a senior in high school and I didn't want to go to school because I didn't feel like I looked good enough. The idea that men found me attractive was more important to me than learning.

If men didn't call out to me while I was walking home, I felt like I was ugly. It had become a given: if some dude yells that he likes my sweet calves, then I'm attractive.

Still, I didn't like it when men called out to me. I didn't like that I couldn't walk to the grocery store without feeling like I was on display. I didn't like that I had to take alternate routes around whole buildings and streets to avoid guys shouting out disgusting remarks.

But it became an addiction of sorts. 

If I didn't hear those things, then I didn't feel worthwhile. I had been taught by my experiences to see my primary worth for strangers as my appearance. That's the only thing anyone seemed to care about... and they cared enough about it to pay attention to it and call me out. I might not like it, but it was important to them. It made me important.

Then came the year that I briefly went insane.

That year I was anxious every second of every day. Having to talk to people I KNEW was bad enough. The idea that strangers would come up to me, demanding my attention, made me really frantic. I became a hermit. I left my room only to buy food from a vending machine downstairs and to lug my laundry to my dad's house.

I used to be a very outgoing, gregarious person -- and suddenly talking to strangers was too uncomfortable. I hadn't done anything to these people, and yet creepy old men wouldn't give me that shred of privacy you hope to expect from decent people.

Sometimes you feel like shit and you want to just walk to the doughnut store to buy all the doughnuts to eat in the dark of your closet, and yet some asshole hanging out his window, sucking through his teeth as he stares at you, won't allow you to have that privacy. 

Nobody wants to be seen 100% of the time, and women aren't afforded that decency. 

After the anxiety let up and I was 'myself' again, I questioned my reliance on catcalls. I learned to value myself beyond my upper thighs. I didn't dress in a way to gain attention (not that I think that's justification to be shitty toward people anyway. EVEN if a guy has 'Kick Me' on his back, you don't fucking kick him, asshole.). 

I refused to make eye contact with strange men. The attention was uncomfortable and I thought if I made steps to stop it, I could.

Then the world kindly informed me:

It doesn't matter how I'm dressed, what age I am, if I'm with my mom, my dad, my grandparents. I'm free game to be vocally sexualized, rudely propositioned, and stared at because... I'm a woman? I'm outside? Sometimes my skirts don't reach my knees?

Well fuck you Goblin Shark! 

*GASP*

Sometimes it's hot outside, and sometimes I want to wear my pretty dress in peace! I just want to look fabulous for me!

And yeah, it sucks to have people staring at you when you're minding your own business. Looking at you like you're in a zoo.

It sucks to have people whistle at you. You know who people whistle at? Pigs and dogs. Do I look like a mother fucking pig-dog to you?

Don't answer that.

It sucks to have men, twice your size, shouting things at you. Telling you they want to take you home and how 'mind blowing' they are. 

It sucks more when they start following you down the block at night, stepping on your heels and whispering the same things in your ear.

It sucks when a man grabs you by the wrist while you're crossing the road, and won't let you go until you agree to go out with him.

It sucks when some asshole smacks your ass and a kid sees it and decides to try it out later when he has a skateboard to escape on, just in case his experiment doesn't work. Just until he's older and more confident in his ability to do what he wants to you for his own pleasure without you being able to stop him. 

It fucking sucks that there's jack shit you can do to stop it unless you cover yourself in a bed sheet everywhere you go.

"Hellllllo Miss January."

So don't try to tell me that I should take it as a compliment when a guy sitting outside a store stares at my ass and tells me I'm beautiful.

I know the difference between a man who's mentally undressing me and someone who genuinely likes my dress. I can figure it out in languages I don't speak. I've had eleven years of practice.

Compliments are one thing -- but they can also be a disguise for a horrible behavior. One that confuses women's worth in their own minds, one that makes you feel like a thing on display, one that forces little girls to consider the vile nature some people think about them in.

So no, I don't think catcalling is complimentary. Even if you're not trying to hurt someone, even if you don't touch them...

... know that they probably have a history that your comment, your look is getting tied into that includes terrible things. 

You're telling these people how you value them and their contribution to society. 

And you know, I kind of hate that argument. That one that asks you to consider us women as your mothers, your sisters.Why not just think of us as people?

It's so crazy it just might work.

I wish I didn't have to think up a way to make that kid on his skateboard understand what he did and the effect it had on me.

I wish he just knew that I like him grabbing my ass about as much as he probably would if some gross dude came up and grabbed his.

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