Tell me to smile one more time. Tell me that I’ll look prettier if I smile. Tell me to calm down and keep a cool front as you continue to rattle insults off your tongue that seem to have no affect on your character, and only on mine.
A couple of weeks ago I was having a nice night out with my friends. A nice night at a bar in which at one point I found myself standing outside when a man decided to approach me.
He introduced himself, I asked him how his night was going, he complained that women weren’t approaching him like he did me; I told him I was sorry for his loss, and then he looked at me. He looked at me and told me, apparently like the rest of the women who weren’t giving him enough attention, that I should smile more. That I would be prettier if I smiled.
Another night a week or so after, I was walking home with my roommates when a fire truck drove past us, honked at us and yelled at us as we kept walking. I whipped my head towards the firemen and watched one whose eyes lit up and whose smile widened as he and his buddies drove away with complete disregard of what had just happened. The men of our city that we’re supposed to call when we’re in trouble, when we need help, the men that we’re supposed to rely on to protect us just catcalled us.
And so forth, the incidents kept occurring. The hollering, the whistling, the microaggressions, every day, every night, every walk. I don’t feel sadness. I don’t feel irritation. I feel anger. I am angry that every time I walk my mind is consumed with and my thoughts are suffocating from the fear of the possibility that something more could happen than the hollering.
I am angry that god forbid I stick up for myself and tell these “boys” about their inappropriateness that I will be the one who is acting chaotic and emotional. I am angry that every single time the hollering, the whistling, the microaggressions occur the blame falls on alcohol or the overused fact that “they are boys and that’s just what they do.”
That’s just what you do. You can’t control it, right? You can’t refrain from looking a woman up and down, glorifying her when she clearly is trying to escape your gaze. You can’t stop the whistles from leaving your lips as you watch a woman walk through her day. You can’t help yelling at a woman the things you love about her body or the things you would do to her even though it’s the first time you’ve laid eyes on her. It’s a biological instinct, right?
Yeah…I have my own biological instinct. I walk with my keys out at night in the event that I have to protect myself. I memorize the clothing, hair color, eye color, skin color of the person that stares at me for one second too long. I tell the person who advises me that I should smile more, that he should smile more too; it would really bring out his personality.
But, let’s be careful ladies, we don’t want to hinder the self-esteem of these men and come off as acting like we don’t actually want these things to happen. No, I love feeling my heart race, my eyes widen, my nostrils flare at night when I walk home from class because I risk another night feeling like there’s a possibility that I might not make it home. I love being cautious about what I wear because I don’t want to radiate these invisible sexual innuendos that apparently mean more than the word “no.”
I love being told to smile more just for the satisfaction of these men so they feel that they’ve accomplished something for the night; that they’ve graced me with their presence and conversation because it’s not possible that I just wanted a nice night with my friends, no I “looked lonely.”
Some would say that we women are being dramatic, emotional, or paranoid. That all of a sudden now with both women and men across the country coming out exposing incidents of harassment and assault, that we’re being too sensitive and that we’re eager to jump on any opportunity that puts us in the spotlight.
Or, maybe society has just been too blind to see and understand the alarming number of times these incidents actually do happen every day, every night, every walk.
Yet, for some reason, this number refuses to slip.
Maybe it’s because we as a society only deem it appropriate to correct someone’s behavior when it’s solely affecting ourselves.
Maybe it’s because we have yet to own the fact that it’s okay to defend ourselves and especially others when behavior like this occurs.
Maybe it’s because the only supposed influential action that’s being taken against these types of people is verbal derogation instead of something that would actually encourage behavioral change.
Maybe it’s because when a woman decides to stick up for herself against these hollers, whistles, and microaggressions, she is taunted even more instead of praised for her courage.
I don’t know why this number refuses to slip, but for now my heart will continue to race, my hand will continue to grasp my keys, and I will continue to urge you to tell me to smile one more time, because I will no longer tolerate your inability to treat me like an equal, like a human being. I will no longer tolerate your inability to treat me with respect.
