How Very Odd

I lied, saying, “I’m 16,” and tried to walk swiftly along the dim, uneven pavement, the streetlights illuminated just enough to cast a shadow without offering any real comfort from the beast behind me.

The at-least-thirty-something man paused, feigning contemplation, then proceeded to insist that we could be friends – his voice calm, almost reasonable, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

How very odd.

—         

It’s interesting – conceptually, I’ve always understood what makes some women “radical”. But it’s not until recently that I fully identified with the feeling.

There is always the temptation to cower, to make yourself smaller under unwelcome scrutiny. But then a switch goes off. You put your foot down, silently resisting the object you’ve been reduced to – sometimes even giving in to the dance altogether, as a letter to yourself, a reminder that you are not to be subdued. Not without your permission, anyway.

And so I did.

When I decided to make a quick dash to the neighborhood convenience store, dressed in a yoga outfit, I could feel the eyes burning into my skin. Unashamed, lingering stares – very unlikely to belong to unmarried men. Necks craned out of car windows for a better look, aggressive whispers cloaked under the guise of compliments.

At first, I was irritated – murderously so, if I’m being honest. Tempted to scurry back into the cage I had so obviously come from. But while the anger remained, it welcomed a quieter resistance. A desire, even, to strip down to my bare skin – not to give them a show, but to prove to myself that I had every right to exist in the world with unbridled ease, regardless of how I chose to present.

—

Disrespect for me, as a woman, has come in a multitude of ways. While not always intentional, it erupts casually from a scarcity mindset: the belief that two elements cannot occupy equal space, that one must rise above the other – man often coming up as reigning champion by societal design.

I’ve been rendered invisible when I’ve entered an Uber with a male friend and been denied a personal greeting, as though he represented us both. I’ve been dismissed when I called to complain about poor customer service, only to be ridiculed and assumed not to not know “road” because of my high-pitched voice. I’ve been overruled when I fended off a man’s advances and lied I had a partner, only for him to turn to this alleged “partner” to verify the truth – because my own voice could not possibly suffice.

I’ve been taken for a mug when I tried to intervene as a woman was being backed into a corner by an obviously belligerent man, and was told they were “just having fun” after seeking support from nearby (male) passersby. And I’ve been punished when friendly relationships have turned sour because an admirer could not accept that my feelings were not reciprocated.

But the greatest disrespect of all comes when male counterparts insist these disparities do not exist, in a society that makes them so explicit, and instead reduce dissent against the actions of men to the simple caricature of a scorned woman.

To be clear – I don’t hate men. I just think you all can do better.