I Write About Feminism

Since it’s gotten warmer out, I’ve seen a few guys outside jogging or playing basketball with their shirts off. Sometimes I’ll look at them while driving past. But I noticed that when I see them, I have no desire whatsoever to scream at them out my car window.

It feels like that would be so rude. They weren’t paying attention to me. They didn’t ask my opinion. I’m not stopping to talk to them. They don’t know me. Why would I scream at them, “Nice body!”? They aren’t out there like that for me.

Why is a man’s thought process so different? Why does the patriarchy tell men that cat-calling and street harassment is the same as giving a compliment? What makes them think we like being yelled at???

lindsaychrist:

some guy in a window company vehicle just made a sexual hand gesture at my sister and she threatened to beat the shit out of him and smashed his drivers side window with a rock but then he called the cops so my sister called the company he worked for and got him fired

(via ishimarupaul)

(via)

obsessionsofee:

“Last week, as part of a cultural discovery project for one of my classes, I spent three days wearing ‘girls’ clothes while going about my day. I wanted to explore the general reaction and preconceptions that people in my city have to clothing, especially in regards to gender. To me, the idea that a piece of fabric or accessory can be so intertwined with who are in our conscious is perplexing. I di

dn’t want to show off, or offend anyone by my act of curiosity. Rather, I wanted to act as a meticulous observer of the times, to see if the community around me was really as open-minded as I wanted to believe that it was. After all, if such things really only had a place in the realm of high-fashion and in Scottish tradition, then something bigger must be at work. 

On the first day, I wore a long-sleeve pink top cropped at the collarbone. I received many compliments, a few glares and even a free Venti gingerbread latte. On the second, I rocked a pink blouse with a high-waisted belt. Again, the same amount of well-wishes, questions and passing eye-rolls. These things were to be expected, as it isn’t necessarily the norm to see someone like me wearing things like these. I felt collected and confident in these modest outfits, seemingly convinced that the world around me could care less about the clothes someone wore. Most affirming was the response to my nails, which were almost always met with a cheerful grin, a high-five and a few words of encouragement.

What happened on the third day changed my perspective on humanity forever. I dressed myself as I normally would; band t-shirt, cardigan, plain Vans, etc. However, instead of black jeans, I complimented the outfit with a plain black skirt and matching set of tights. For me, this was a huge step in self-image. Years ago, I was barely confident enough to leave the house for school. These days, the opposite couldn’t be more true. As I set off about my day, the absolute worst in people came out in a full-force flurry of expletives and discomfort. I was ridiculed in whispers. I was mocked in glances. I was obnoxiously and filthily cat-called by a construction crew who, from behind, couldn’t tell that I was a man. Stopping by a bathroom before a lecture, a frat-bro went out of his way to shove me into the adjacent wall after eyeing me up and down on his way out. Expletives and names that might induce me to vomit were I to repeat them, were casually thrown in my direction with almost zero passing thought. By day’s end, I feared a full-on breakdown, unable to stand up for myself or what I believed in to maintain the integrity of the observer’s perspective. In a way, I had no right to feel that way, mostly because of the realization that this is the way that many have to live their lives. I fought back tears as every stare and ill-formed word engrained themselves in my sub-conscious. 

Though I may not know you, I think that it’s important that we all come to understand why these things happen. In my book, cat-calling, shaming and harassment are among the worst actions we can engage in. As a heterosexual male, I will never truly know the fear that women may experience while walking home from work, going see a friend for lunch, or being sized-up in public based on their clothing. I will never truly know the gut-rot that a transgender individual may feel while being eyed up and down at the store or in class, strangers seeming to think as if the clothing they see before them begs a legal invitation of ridicule. I will never truly know the plights of these people, but as an ally and a human being invested in true equality, it is now my obligation to stand up for them as if I did. 

What scares me the most is not the glances, mixed emotions, or 10-page paper that will inevitably come as a by-product of this project. No, what scares me is that this is the world we live in. We exist in a place where individuals living their truths can be subjected, directly or otherwise, to fear simply for living those truths. We live in an age where feeling ‘normal’ in your own clothing can create unfathomable contention with strangers, despite them having zero investment in their lives. We live in a world where the material, the fabric, the pieces that adorn you are somehow allowed to say more about who you are than the convictions in your heart and the sincerity in your deeds.

I don’t know about you, but I refuse that world. I refuse to let these things overcome the passion and genuine honesty that I’ve been so fortunate to bear witness to in my time. I refuse to let backwards, unprogressive mindsets stifle the glow and drive of those who are undeservingly robbed of it. Don’t say it can’t happen to you. If it happened to me, under the most average of circumstances on the streets in a progressive-leaning city, it could happen to anyone, and that is something I truly do not understand.

After all, it’s just a skirt. 

What is it about a piece of inanimate, plain fabric that scares you so much?”

A white cis dude actually being a dece ally - I wish people would listen when these topics are discussed by actual women and LBGT people, but, you know - the point is still there and I guess a cis dude will give it a better platform for attention than any woman could (reiterating the entire point/message of the ‘experiment’).

fourthmansionofthemoon:

A very brave friend of mine just started this tumblr to document what she was wearing when she encountered street harassment. This is to prove that what women wear has nothing to do with harassment, and that harassment is entirely about power and entitlement. Spread the word, she’s a badass!

(Source: 4thmansionofthemoon, via theamburglar)

No one, ever.  (via aboutmaleprivilege)

(Source: agirlandherblob, via all-about-male-privilege)

isaywesay:

This is a group campaign to stand up against street harassment.

I adore iHollaback!! You definitely need to check it out. Amazing organization/campaign.

(Source: )

saneoldsameold:

I’m not going to address the ‘white girls get it too omg’ bullshit because they do, but it’s always different. I’m writing this as a woman of color who’s experienced street harassment more times than I can count.

First off, I think people need to realize that this isn’t just basic misogyny when it comes to women of color. It’s misogyny and whiteness showing both their ugly faces simultaneously. Because misogyny treats white women completely differently.

But whiteness tells US (WOC) some whole other shit, mainly two things:
1. Black and brown women are sexually undesirable (unless of course, they’re light)
2. Black and brown are always sexually available

and that combination of ideas is what’s really so dangerous about street harassment. Because if you believe both, then you believe that Black and brown women SHOULD BE HAPPY when you harass them on the street. You’re not even desirable, you should be fucking flattered. Men who perpetrate street harassment are under the impression that I owe them my time and that their harassment should be taken as a complement because I have brown skin. And that is what makes street harassment genuinely dangerous- the sense of entitlement to ME.

I had a guy tell me once when he scared the shit out of me by following me into a corner store (I was 15) because I freaked and didn’t give him my name, ‘Man I ain’t finna take this shit from no bitch.’

What he meant was, you’re brown. Be happy I just harassed you. Street harassment isn’t just misogyny at work- it’s whiteness telling men how to treat Black and brown women.

(Source: writingrhythmandretail)