Monday, June 16, 2014

It's Not Bragging, It's Resisting! (A Memo)

By Anči

Psst, guys! Complaining about cat-calling ISN'T tantamount to bragging about how "attractive" I am.
 (cause of all things I have to be proud of, why would my alleged fuckability-- which by the way is entirely dependent on the whims of a handful of sexist creeps-- make the cut? Duh.)

Not to mention, that I have no problem talking about how hot I am, without the aggressive promptings of a balding passer-by.  Don't believe me?  Here goes:  I'm a sexy bitch, with rosy apple cheeks, and the breasts of a young boy. (see? Easy.)

So yeah, I don't eagerly wait around for a bro to whistle at me in order to "finally" get the "opportunity" to let y'all know about how flyyyy I must be.  I can do that much more effectively, by.. simply posting a selfie, or straight up saying "daaamn I look good."

mexican magic

 But that brings me to something I've struggled with for a long time-- the momentary self-consciousness that arises whenever I choose to draw attention to predatory behavior. Sure, it never lasts long enough to deter me from speaking out, but it does give me pause. Because, regardless of how confident I am in my own convictions,  I still painfully aware of how needlessly vigilant society can be about keeping our lady egos in check. And I'm also aware that any feminine display of self-importance is instantly regarded with a kind of hostility rarely afforded to comparably confident men..
Of course the irony here is, that being catcalled has NEVER actually made me feel confident-- if anything, it's only served to strengthen the tedious constraints invoked in this aforementioned brand of know-your-place backlash. Get it? Catcalling puts us in our place,  while speaking out elevates us. Hence, speaking out must also be turned into a punishable offense. (anything to silence the uppity bitches right?  Like, "be grateful men want to fuck you, and stop pretending to be offended.")
And because I sense that some people still aren't buying what I'm selling, i'll put it in very plain vulgar terms:

The thing I deal with, when I talk about being cat-called is a strange man-- usually  middle aged, fat, and sweaty-- going out of his way TO LET ME KNOW not only that he would like to fuck me, but that he derives pleasure from my visible anxiety and discomfort at his unwelcome presence. (Sexy stuff, right? Makes a girl feel like a million bucks... NOT.)
Can I get this made into a shirt?

 Because getting approval from gross-looking, Panera middle-managers named Chet does NOTHING for a self-respecting broad like me, maybe it's time y'all stop flipping my harassment narratives into one of forced-self empowerment. (cause like I said, I only have to post a selfie to feel smug and sexy.)

And that's not to diss (both) women who do (inexplicably) happen to thrive on street-side creep attention.
Like, if that kind of dynamic conjures up feelings of pride and confidence in you-- then, you're very lucky because you happen to live in a world that's tailor-made for your ego. But if you're anything like me, or pretty much any other living woman, you'll quickly recognize this phenomenon for the intimidation shit-show it really is... and hopefully, turn that anger into feminism.

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