November is a funny time to be thinking about street harassment. Normally by this time of the year, I'm shrouded in so many layers and rushing so quickly from building to building in an attempt to note freeze to death, that I get basically zero attention on the street. This November, has been unseasonally warm. While warm weather in November is generally lovely, albeit alarming given global warming, it does have unfortunate side effects.
I tend to judge cities based on the amount of street harassment I experience there (Geneva, you are lovely; San Francisco, you are not). It shapes and colors who I am in the world in ways that I hate. The price you pay for being a woman in public grates on you.
Relatively recently I started flying again, after being out with a hip injury. Usually Drew and I fly together, which cuts harassment to zero (which I appreciate even as it infuriates me). One class a few weeks ago, though, Drew didn't fly, so I was going home on my own. I fly in booty shorts and fishnets, which I suppose comes across as sexier than I mean. I fly in these cloths because I like them, though, not for the male gaze or whatever. I like elaborate patterns on tights, I like how they are grippy on board and make me feel safer, I like how they make me feel like I'm dancing in the air, I like how they make me feel like a real flyer.
During this particular class, I brought back misses (turning to the net), my takeoffs felt good, I caught legs off of the THIRD RISE without fear. Flying is scary for me, flying is intense personally growth work. One of my current projects is literally getting more confident in my abilities, since one of my main coaches decided that's one of my main challenges as a flyer. I dig so deep as a flyer, and it's so empowering and overwhelming. After being out with painful, boring, time-consuming, expensive PT, flying feels like even more of a triumph especially when it's a great class. So, I was still flying high after this class. It was warm out, I put on my knee-high fake leather boots and a wrap, and walked to the metro.
And I got so much crap. One guy asked for my number, got angry when I wouldn't give it, followed me to the metro station, and only left me alone after I entered the system. Yes, I get it, booty shorts, fishnets, boots, but why can't I dress how I want? Why do men assume a right to comment on my body, to police my presence in a public space because I'm wearing something that has nothing to do with them?
Street harassment robs women of so much. Our ability to feel safe in public, to go where we need to go when we need to without fear. Of money (the cabs I take to avoid being out after dark alone). Of basic humanness and politeness. I don't respond sometimes when people are just saying hello or being friendly, because if I respond to the wrong person who isn't just being friendly, it's so much worse. I try not to feel my moods in public, since when I'm happy or smiling to myself, it can be so much worse. I second guess what I wear, even though it often doesn't matter.
I don't have any conclusion to this. I just feel like venting and being sad about it.
