I'm usually not one to buy into stereotypes about New Yorkers, but I'm starting to understand why New York women in particular might come off as mean: We are constantly conditioned to completely avoid engaging with any man we see on the street. When I lived in Montana, if an unassuming man stopped me on the street, it was probably to ask for directions or to tell me he recognized me from a play I did with his godson in middle school (everyone's connected in small towns). Now, more often than not someone who stops me on the street is going to proceed to say something disgusting. It's gotten to the point that yesterday, as I was passing through Union Square, two 20-something men tried to intercept my path. One of them began a question: "Excuse me, I don't suppose I could ask you --" but before he could finish I had brushed past them, refusing to make eye contact or even acknowledge that they were there. I have very little doubt that they were perfectly well-meaning, just trying to ask for directions, but I didn't take the risk of finding out.

This is because catcalling at its core perpetuates the idea that men have more of a right to exist in the public sphere than women do, as though any female who dares to venture outside the safety of her home must clearly be inviting comment from the world at large. The catcallers feel as though they have the right not only to have an opinion about a woman's appearance, but also the right to voice that opinion completely uninvited. Then, if the woman doesn't respond in the way they would like, they turn aggressive, shouting often-violent obscenities that make the catcall-ees genuinely afraid. It's an ongoing battle between wanting to be a strong feminist and respond negatively and being afraid of the very real threat of physical harm.

And I know this isn't just me -- I've heard countless stories from countless other young women, and everyone's stories contain the same sentiments. We are all afraid of riding the subway home alone, of appearing too friendly or not friendly enough, of standing up for ourselves, of asserting our right to take up space in the world.

This battle constantly manifests itself in women's lives; for instance, I am a person who enjoys wearing things like crop tops, short skirts, high heels, and red lipstick. The angry feminist in me always assures me that this is fine, it's great, I can wear whatever I want and I shouldn't care how anyone else is going to react to it. No matter what I wear, my body is mine alone and no one can take that from me.

But as strongly as I believe that all of that is true, I also know that the reality of the world I live in is very far from the way I think things should be. While I know that the way I present myself is never an invitation for uninvited comment or intrusion, I also know that there are people everywhere who would strongly disagree. As angry and frustrated as I am that the world isn't the way it should be, I still sometimes look in the mirror and know that there are people all around me who would see my outfit and say I was "asking for it."

Because, at its root, that's what catcalling implies. It implies that the men I pass on the street have some sort of innate right to my body, and that by wearing what I'm wearing or walking down a specific street or being alone or being drunk or being too nice or too mean, I'm inviting this stranger to comment on my behavior. I'm inviting him to tell me to "smile, baby," because I don't look like the "nice girl" that this person has decided I should be.

Catcalling doesn't just come from the places everyone expects, either. While I have gotten plenty of lewd comments and violating stares from construction workers, strange men on empty streets, and the like, I've also gotten them from people who make me feel even more uncomfortable. On more occasions than one, I've heard the likes of "hey, beautiful, come here. I wanna talk to you," from perfectly nondescript men in business suits in the middle of the day on 14th Street. Every time, I just want to grab them by the shoulders and shake. I want to ask them if they have a wife, a daughter, a mother -- I want to ask them how they would feel if one of those women in their lives came home and told them that she was afraid to walk down the street for fear of having to deal with men like him.

This treatment is a symptom of rape culture: Women are seen and addressed not as human beings, but as objects passing through space. Even coming from someone who really is well-meaning, catcalling will always feel more like a threat than a compliment to me. And every time I think the chances of actual assault are so slim, that it would never happen to me, I think of the statistic that is constantly present in the back of my mind: one in four college women will be raped. I've heard this statistic so many times that it's lost its immediacy, and that alone is heartbreaking. But now I live in a dorm with three other girls, and I don't like those odds.