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Why I’m not going to miss catcalls

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“Damn girl.”

People tell me I’m going to miss this when I get older. They say when men stop yelling things to me on the street, it will mean I’m old, and I’m not attractive anymore. They’re wrong. I’m not going to miss it.

“You look good.”

I don’t understand catcalls. I was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, and I hadn’t showered on the day a man drove by in a pickup and yelled that at me. I was walking my dog. I was sweaty. I didn’t look good. And what was the purpose? Did he expect me to run after him, flag him down and write my number on the back of his hand?

I continued walking. Someone honked their horn at me.

A catcall is not a compliment. A compliment is when someone tells you that you have nice hair or a great teeth or you’re intelligent. A compliment makes you feel good about yourself. It makes you smile.

I never know what the proper response to a catcall is. Should I wave and say thank you? I don’t. I put my head down and pretend like I don’t hear them. It introduces tension. It makes me feel uncomfortable in the public sphere. Sometimes it makes me angry.

It makes others around you feel uncomfortable, too. But is anyone supposed to do about it? It happens quickly, and it’s a remark made in passing. And besides, they seem to think, she shouldn’t have been wearing that.

I remember standing underground by myself waiting for the T in Boston a summer ago. I looked at my shoes. I looked at the wall in front of me. There was only one fan oscillating uselessly in the corner. Even though I was wearing a skirt and a tank top, I was hot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group of men. One of them sidled up to me. I felt him look me up and down. He wore blue jeans and a white tank top. I started to sweat, my heartbeat quickened.

“Hi,” he said lazily. He leered at me. His teeth were crooked and stained.

I didn’t know what to do. “Hi,” I said. And then I turned away from him. I saw a father and son standing a few feet away. The sight of a parent spoke safety to me. I skirted around the pair and hid myself.

I looked at the father for reassurance. He didn’t look at me. He stared straight ahead. No one looked at me. I felt like I had done something wrong. I was ashamed.


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