Catcalls have become an ordinary part of life for women who live in urban areas or visit cities from time to time. It's deemed as "harmless," or "to be expected" when a woman wears a nice dress or skirt, or simply walks down the street wearing whatever. It's always sickened me when I'd visit a friend in Chicago and we would get catcalled by some guy on the street and my friend would just brush it off. "Oh that happens all the time. It could be worse," she'd say. That's just the problem, it could be worse. Catcalling can sometimes lead to stalking, and possibly sexual assault. Catcalling is a form of sexual harassment and it often leaves women feeling embarrassed and violated for trying to live their daily lives.
Recently, I moved to France to study abroad for four months. I have a shaky understanding of the language, but I can converse with others and speak basic French. I chose not to study in Paris because I never wanted to study in Chicago when I was home so I figured I wouldn't enjoy being alone in a huge city like Paris either. Instead, I chose Rennes, which is the capital of Bretagne and has a population of maybe 600,000? It's large in its own right. My host family showed me how to access bus lines so I could get to school, and I felt secure in my knowledge of public transit.
I was forewarned by friends who have studied abroad that foreign cities are just like cities in the U.S. One has to pay attention to their surroundings and be suspicious of strangers. Many friends told me to work on my "Resting B Face," just so I wouldn't "attract unwanted attention" by flashing a friendly smile. I figured I could handle it. It wasn't until recently when I seriously doubted my ability to ignore unsolicited catcalls and rude remarks.
One afternoon, I got lost in Rennes. I had been hanging out with friends at a park, and I left to catch a bus to the center of town so I could catch another bus to meet up with my host family downtown. I had never been to the bus stop on that side of town. It was essentially deserted. The bus was due in five minutes. I waited as the sun bore down on my already sunburned shoulders, and I saw a man approach the bus stop from across the street. As soon as he saw me he yelled some term of "endearment" at me in French. I thought immediately, "No, no, no. Just look the other way, avoid him completely." Then he came right up to me, not even a foot away and began saying things like, "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" or "Wanna go somewhere with me?" and other creepy things along those same lines.
I immediately considered my options. I could flee the bus stop, but I had no idea where I was and I lost sight of the park where my friends were still hanging out. I had already walked several feet from the bus stop but he followed me to the end of the sidewalk. If I wandered further, he could get me alone. I went back to the bus stop shelter and there were two other men there, my pursuer was adamant. I avoided his gaze and racked my brain for French phrases that could convey my disgust and disinterest, but I figured if I said anything it would just make things worse, so I stayed quiet. He made rude gestures and said things like, "I know you want it, Blondie." There wasn't a way to get around him. The other men at the stop said nothing, they just watched. One of the man's friends called him over and thankfully the bus came.
I plunked myself down in the first seat, and felt my face burn red. Luckily, he did not follow me. I tried to calm myself, and said to myself, "You've been to Chicago plenty of times and had similar things happen. What makes this any different? Women get catcalled all the time, why are you so upset about this?" Despite my efforts to reassure myself, I couldn't stop the flood of panic that rushed to my stomach. I began doubting everything. Why did I come to France in the first place? Why did I leave my friends? I shouldn't have worn a dress. Why did I walk by myself? I am so stupid. Other self-doubts filled my brain, and I couldn't stop thinking about the way the man looked at me. I wanted to cry.
I stayed awake that night, reliving that afternoon in my head. Even though I joked about it with my host family after the fact. They were concerned, and so was I. My host mom said, "Call me. Don't hesitate, and we will come get you." Of course that afternoon I was afraid to take my phone out in case the man might take it, and it was almost dead anyway.
The thing that bothered me the most was the inevitability of it all. I thought that I should have seen it coming. It's only practical to take precautions, like only walking with a group, or staying in a cafe until I know exactly how to get to my bus stop, instead of waiting alone at an unfamiliar one. Now that the event has passed, it is easy to consider what I should have done instead of panicking and blaming myself.
What I wanted to say to that cat caller was: Nothing. He wasn't worth my time or my words. I will not feel ashamed for someone else's problem. It's not fair that women have to deal with being preyed upon or embarrassed in public by men who can't control themselves. (I'm not saying the same thing doesn't happen to men as well, but it seems like a more common concern for women). Yet, it's a fact of life for us. Women are constantly sexualized by the media and random strangers, and we shouldn't have to bear the shame of that. Instead of feeling angry and insecure, which is a completely natural reaction, I won't let this experience color my time abroad differently. No one should have that power except for me.
