Almost a month ago, I began a wonderful casting internship in the heart of New York City. I wake up early, I pick out an outfit for the warm weather and long hours, I drive in from NJ to NY with my father who always dons a nice suit, and I make my walk from his office to mine.
Every day, I make the same walk.
Every day, I am met with the degrading eyes and hollers of disgusting men who wish desperately to project their masculine prowess on me.
Every day, I am reminded of my "vulnerability" as a woman.
On a daily basis, I will hear anything from "God bless you" to smooching noises a dog owner would use to call their pet back inside the house. I am harassed by men slowly driving by, smirking in their pickup trucks and yelling obscenities out their car windows. I hear "Smile for me like the pretty girl you are," "Say hello, gorgeous," "You have a boyfriend, baby?" "Come here and talk to me, mami." I have been "proposed to," I have been followed.
I am NOT flattered by this, nor am I "asking for it."
Nonetheless, as women, we are expected to behave in a pre-programmed way to any and all attention we get on the street from greasy strangers.
When you consider the definition of sexual harassment, this form of masculine behavior involves one-directional communication that occurs without the consent of the individual.
A group of construction workers gang up on an unsuspecting woman and she dares not say anything back. A man driving down the street is able to hide behind his steering wheel and speed off. It's fairly easy to get away with this if you don't allow space for her to accept or reject the attention.
In other words, there is no consent.
I am taught that, as a girl, I should be careful of what I wear, how I act, where I go alone and to always be on alert.
From elementary school to high school, I was told if I wore shorts that were shorter than my arm's length or tank top straps that were less than two fingers wide, I was to be sent home.
But somewhere along the line, I presume boys learn that masculinity comes in the form of unwanted comments, gestures and actions forced on a stranger in a public place without their consent. Somewhere along the way, boys find that "real" men actually bond over the objectification of women.
That Stanford student that raped an unconscious woman? He made sure to send pictures of what he was doing to all of his friends.
What mother has ever taught her children to treat women that way, and actually high-five over it?
When I respond, I feel like I have given in. When I ignore, I am ridiculed.
Unfortunately, even when a woman is upset by this “flattery,” they are likely to be dismissed as being oversensitive, and the blame is placed on the woman.
Inner dialogue turns into:
"Was the group of men staring at my chest because I chose to wear a tank top?"
"Did the man who stared as I passed by say, 'Damn ma, nice a**' because I was wearing my favorite pair of high-waisted jeans?"
Actually, no. Not at all.
In my case, it has nothing to do with my stupid tank top or my jeans. It has nothing to do with the fact that I have blonde hair or like to wear flowery dresses or long skirts that swish when I walk on warm days.
It is the fact that I am a woman walking by myself, and that there are men that exist to blatantly use me as a means to feel powerful.
It is 2016 and I still have to watch what I wear and where I go alone.
But I should be flattered, right?
