Can We Skip Street Harassment Season?
Advice from a guy who has been harassed in the street.
It’s officially sundress season. There are few things more enticing than a sundress. In a world of constant explicitness, the windswept silhouette of the sundress puts the suggestion back into suggestive. The adoration of the sundress lies in the seen and unseen.
Seeing a sundress in the wild is a gift for everyone. But, like anything else, there are those who either through selfishness, ignorance, or both ruin that gift for everyone.
As a lifelong New Yorker, I have been harassed on the street by men. I can say for a fact that it is neither fun nor endearing. I have dealt with unwanted advances by men while walking the streets alone, with friends, and with my wife. They ranged from the passive-aggressive “You look nice” to full-on catcalls from across the street, including one incident where several men loudly proclaimed their amorous intent.
I feel I should say a couple of things before going any further to avoid the wrath of those of you reading this piece.
- I understand that this is not an apples-to-apples comparison. My few experiences with street harassment pale in comparison to what some people endure daily.
- This is not a commentary on gay men, who by and large are neither harassers nor predators. If anything, I am acknowledging that regardless of sexuality, men share some similar traits, both positive and negative. My comparison is for the sake of understanding the physical intimidation/discomfort of being harassed in the street by someone your size or larger.
Based on my experience, there are a number of things that men who defend street harassment or don’t see it as harassment at all don’t understand.
It’s not just about what you are saying:
As a matter of reference, I am 5’11” and roughly 200 pounds. I’m not a large man, but I’m big enough that the natural assumption is that I could defend myself if needed. I have had men my size and larger harass me in the street, and the concern about a physical altercation is real. I can only imagine being six inches shorter and 50 pounds lighter.
Your compliments aren’t actually compliments:
If you have ever had someone pay you a compliment and immediately ask you for a dollar, you understand this. A compliment with an ulterior motive, especially a blatant one, neither makes the recipient feel good nor furthers your agenda. All it does is make you a nuisance.
It’s not comical or lighthearted:
As a man who has been harassed, the natural inclination is to make a joke of it. After all, nobody wants to hear a man complain about harassment. Much the same as black people don’t want to hear about white people being discriminated against. That aside, being accosted is not a laughing matter. Instilling discomfort and fear is a one-way pleasure.
It’s embarrassing as fuck:
I have experienced a range of catcalls, from you look nice to full-on yelling across the street. I don’t know many people who want to be the focus of a random public spectacle. To paraphrase Jay-Z, I don’t want to be engaged by fools because from a distance; people can’t tell who is who. I’m not onstage. I’m walking to the movies.
Don’t gotdammit touch me:
I won’t get into details, but my experience with harassment has crossed beyond words and in situations where smacking a fool wasn’t an immediate option. Forgetting the legal and moral implications of unwanted touching, for the average woman, the physical response is an invitation to being hit, beaten, or worse. Wrist grabbing, ass pinching, and the like aren’t romantic or endearing. Instead, it’s an invasion and an attempt to wield power over someone else.
I’m sure that this piece will get its fair share of negative commentary and trolling. I get it; if being a harasser or a troll is your cup of tea, this post, and in turn, me, become a straightforward target. If, however, you are a decent human being simply making a bad decision when it comes to talking to strangers on the street, then let this serve as a moment to self-evaluate and maybe practice a little empathy.
