There's nothing in this post that hasn't been said before, but the nature of echo chambers is that they reflect back into themselves. Despite this, I feel as if I have some controversial opinions regarding why catcalling happens. Are you ready?
I believe that I have a degree of control over how much negative attention my body garners in public.
Not super ground-breaking but it's an unusual attitude to have in the sex-blogging community, which is by its nature focused on consent and self-defined intent. The attitude in this contemporary, leftist, 'progressive' community is that you should be able to walk around nude or entirely covered-up and not be shamed either way. Bodily autonomy is paramount
As we all know, this is not the case. I find that I can predict when I will get the most attention, based on the most arbitrary things. Mostly, it's clothing – no brainer there. This is more or less expected in warmer weather, when shirts get strappier and shorts come into play. However, I'm certain that many of us have stories of being catcalled when fully covered-up. I was once approached by a man while wearing a full winter coat, heavy boots, hands jammed in my pockets, a woolly hat, and a scarf drawn across my face. It was snowing and my face was cold – the only part of my body visible were my eyes, yet a stranger still called out to me to inform me that I was beautiful and intelligent and I should go to a club with him. Mild, as catcalling goes; but the fact remains that I was fully covered – and still received attention.
Recently, my partner and I walked past a high school during break-time. It was summer; I was wearing shorts and a vest with a high neckline. My arms and legs were bare, but I also had knee-socks on. I think it was the socks that did it. The kids started yelling some vile stuff, which my partner and I ignored. What else could we do? The mock-defiance I usually try to portray by yelling back, throwing middle fingers, and (on occasions in which people try to get my attention by calling me like a cat) barking loudly would not have helped in that situation. It was weirdly disempowering – these high school kids were making me feel so uncomfortable by yelling some pretty unpleasant things, and it was doubly shameful because they were children and I was the adult. Locked behind the school gates, any retaliatory actions on my part would have seemed weak and devoid of any consequence. Threats are empty when there are more of them than there are of you, when they're fixed in the same spot and you're forced to be the one who walks away while they watch, when there is a physical barrier separating you. What can you do in that situation? Yell back and have your voice drowned out by the pack? Throw up a double middle-finger salute to a group of children? What does your male partner do? Threaten them through the fence?
It's impossible.
Once, I did my hair as inspired by this image -- loose, messy pigtails that I wore to work. And I knew it would be the hair that got me noticed. When I popped out in my lunch break and walked past some people doing construction, I knew I was about to happen – I was about to get catcalled.
I waited for it, ignoring repeated attempts to get my attention, and finally one person called out "Nice fringe!" While this is likely the oddest catcalling experience I've had, it reinforced my feeling that, to an extent, this is within my control. I can choose when I get noticed.
The whole idea is fallible, of course, but it is an obvious conclusion to come to. However, when even a hairstyle can get (harmless, but still unwanted) attention, it's difficult to imagine always being able to predict what will get me noticed by catcallers. It's difficult to imagine that my actions have no effect on the attention I receive. It was the socks, I tell myself afterwards. The knee-high socks I wear to cover up my unshaven shins – that's what got me noticed. It must have been my hair, or that skirt, it must have been because I was wearing lipstick that day, or due to the unexpected magic of a slept-in French braid that looked artfully-tousled rather than just plain messy.
The basic message is that it was something I did. It was because I didn't make myself nondescript enough. It was me. It's my fault.
It's not the case, but it feels true.
♡ Heart graphics created via Cryptogram ♡
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