"Look at that stacked bitch" assaults my ears. I continue walking down the street, but those five simple words have triggered a complex reaction. The siren of "DANGER, DANGER'' blares in my head, forcing me to turn around and look at the man sticking his pink tongue between his pointer and middle fingers. I feel anger at that gesture, revulsion. The haughtiness that marked me as a "bitch" rises to the surface. And while that turmoil of anger and fear plays out, a part of me feels assured that someone thinks I look as good as I hope I do. I swagger, sashay, and, upon noticing this, I tuck that thought away in shame.
Many proponents of men's right to forcefully validate a women's appearance claim that it is meant as a compliment. However, if it is truly meant as a compliment shouldn't they care how it makes us feel? If the comment that someone makes about how great my breasts look causes me to feel fear, then can it really be seen as something as benevolent as a compliment? Catcalling is about power. Specifically, the dichotomy of power involved in one person asserting themselves as an aggressor and the other as an object. Women have archetypally been objects, playthings for men. I don't want to be that, but embodying that outdated notion of femininity is the only reaction that has been presented to me: don't react.
Theoretically, if I keep my head down, my shoulders up, just keep walking, and don't say anything, then I'll be fine. But this feels wrong. I don't feel fine, I feel ashamed. In this instance, I am still allowing the assertion of someone else's power over my own. The momentary confidence that I do gain is being ripped out of me by myself, by the shame of enjoying something I know to be wrong. I don't want to tear myself down. I don't want to let my internalized shame complete what that misogynistic pig was trying to do. I will not keep my head down. I will not shut up. I will not keep walking as I hear that two-legged pig's friend snort at him "Heh, heh. Nice one, man." I will not. I cannot.
I am not delegitimizing the fear that comes with catcalling. At times, it truly does make me fear for my safety. If I think that the man yelling at me poses a threat, I will treat him like any other unhinged person and just keep walking. However, if this is just another guy trying to act as important as he isn't, I will react. I feel the need to reclaim my power. I will not be a plaything, and I will not be meek. The next time I'm on the street and someone barks at me "look at that stacked bitch," I must stand up tall, look them in the eye, and let myself swagger. Sashay.
