Your catcalls are not a compliment.
I know this has been written about by others in ways that are a lot more articulate and interesting — but to be honest, I just need a place to express how fucking angry I am right now. So shitty men of Toronto, listen up:
Your catcalls are not a compliment. Honking at me from your lifted Ford Ranger doesn’t make me feel sexy, it makes me feel powerless and objectified. Disregarding the fact that I’m blatantly ignoring you and continuing to speak to me like I owe you my time and energy proves to me that you are not the type that takes ‘no’ for an answer. Shouting “good morning, gorgeous!” at me at 9:30 in the morning is not going to prompt me to sleep with you. Ever.
It’s important for you to know that your opinion on how I look is irrelevant, and I don’t have to take kindly to you thinking you are entitled to share your opinion about my body with me. Unless we are friends or I ask your advice, I do not give a shit about your opinion. It is not a compliment for a stranger to find me sufficiently fuckable because I don’t value myself on the basis of how many men want to have sex with me.
I am going to ignore you if you try to approach me at 11pm as I walk to the drug store. You know why? Because if I decide to be friendly and give you the time of day, if you decide to overpower me and get grabby, I will have police officers ask me why I was out so late alone, and why I talked to you in the first place. Your lack of human decency will be overlooked and I will be to blame. I will be asked why my skirt was too short, and be told that you just misconstrued my friendliness as flirting and that you thought I wanted it.
I wonder if you realize that I don’t leave the house without my phone not because I’m a text addict, but because I want to be able to call for help if I need it. I wonder if you know what it’s like to come up with an exit strategy or a witty retort in a split second just in case that guy walking towards you decides he’s got something to say — or worse.
I’m going to be real with you — I’m really tired of being nice. I’m tired of being told to smile, and I’m tired of saying “thank you” when dudes on the street compliment me. My body is not about you. My existence isn’t about you, and I don’t walk down the street for your enjoyment.
Yep. Havin’ a real shitty week this week.
(via lipsredasroses)
