As a Malaysian that has lived in many different countries in the past, I have found living in Italy to be rather vexing (to put it lightly) when it comes to getting unwanted attention from the local men. I get asked a lot whether I am a masseuse, whether I’m walking on the street or on the beach. Men mutter at me under their breath, shout at me from passing cars, and creeps tail me in cars. The list goes on.

I dislike the feeling of being objectified and sometimes wish I could zap them with something more than a death stare.

– Anonymous

Location: Italy

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When I was in college one night, I worked late at the library and then needed to catch the last bus home. A space invader sat down next to me as I waited and began alternately making comments and inching closer and closer to me. At first I just edged away uncomfortably, but that can only go so far on a bench! I thought about going back inside the student union, but I would have had to stay all night; there was nobody to call and come get me if I missed that bus. So instead I turned to face the man.

I let my lower lip begin to tremble, and then said in a high, childish voice, “Are you a … STWANGER?”

As I continued, I kept escalating my voice until I was shouting. “My momma told me NEVER to talk to STWANGERS! If you’re a stwanger and I’m talking to you I am gonna get in so much twouble, and my momma’s gonna be mad, and you’re a STWANGER … ”

By this time, of course, the man was off the bench and backing up fast, sputtering, “Lady, I never touched you … hey, lay off, calm down …. ” I just kept on, now “blubbering” a bit (actually, trying hard not to laugh), and he turned tail and ran off.

– Aelie

Location: The corner of 24th and Guadalupe, Austin, TX.

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Actually, this is more of an observation than a story.

Street harassment has always been unwelcome and uncomfortable so my following thoughts do not indicate nostalgia on my part. As a woman in her late 50s, street harassment is no longer part of my experience. I noticed a decrease as I aged which brought me to think of my objectification as a woman through the lens of ageism. I find myself further objectified as an older woman with little perceived value and viability.

It’s the other end of the spectrum and one I think your project may want to explore as the older woman is still a woman and although on the far end are part of the spectrum of sexual objectification.

-JD

Location: Everywhere

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It was July 2012 in the afternoon, and I had just stepped off the E line train. As I started to cross the street I saw this group of 4-5 guys standing around talking, clearly blocking the sidewalk, probably in their early twenties. I quickly put my headphones back in; no music playing. Due to the construction in that area, I could only use that sidewalk where they were. As I walk past them quickly making zero eye contact, all I hear is, “Hey baby…come here, talk to me beautiful.”

Within seconds that followed by a loud shout, “Hey!” as one of them proceeded to follow me for a few steps. While other guys began laughing at the guy walking towards me because, “She’s ignoring you.” Then, immediately I heard him yell, “This bitch! Walk away, bitch!”…which infuriated me so much!

There were other people around, so I know others heard that loud and clear. At that moment I felt as though the best thing was to just keep ignoring him. He had already repeatedly called me a bitch, so I picked up the pace to get out of there quickly. I was afraid of what he might do if I was to stop and say something back, considering he had no problem calling me (a woman he doesn’t know) a bitch in public.

I was so disgusted that it literally ruined my mood that day. I had been looking forward to visiting a patient recovering at BWH and when that happened, it was all I could think about. I kept running through it again in mind, as to maybe what I should have done differently. The enraged part of me wished I could have yelled back to him, but then again I can’t imagine intentionally disrespecting someone in that way. Someone who knows nothing about me. Absolutely horrible. I’ve heard catcalling before, and frequently…but this time was different. I was really frightened by the frustration/anger in his voice.

– Anonymous

Location: Green Line: E train at the Brigham Circle Train stop in Boston, MA

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Let me set the scene: imagine you’re having a really good day. You just got a “job well done” from your boss, you did laundry and you’re wearing your favorite clothes, the shirt that matches your eyes, the beat up shorts that you’ve worn in just right. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and you’re walking around the block just because you can. Suddenly a car pulls up and four men are inside. They look you up and down in a way that makes you feel less like a human being and more like a piece of meat behind the glass in a butchery. You look straight ahead, chin raised and avoid eye contact, unsmiling, in order to minimize contact. Your chest is tight.

“You’re sexy baby,” one of them calls out lasciviously, less a compliment than a declaration of dominance. You don’t respond and keep on walking, head high, and hope they keep driving, but instead the car creeps beside you for long minutes, they are hoping to illicit a reaction. Your heart is racing and you hope more than anything that they’ll just keep on driving. Eventually, when they realize you aren’t going to respond, they drive off and scream, “Whatever BITCH,” at you as they screech away. Heart still pounding, you continue on your way, looking over your shoulder and hoping they won’t return for another round.

Will I get harassed today?

Welcome to my world.

Here’s the reality of being a woman in the current age: every day when I get dressed, I have to consider the implications of my outfit and the feedback it will receive from men on the street. Going out on the weekend becomes an internal struggle between my desire to wear the clothes that highlight the things I like about myself and the desire to preemptively stop the unwanted catcalls made by drunk strangers, who often become aggressive and combative when I deign to point out how unwelcome their comments are.

Strange men have solicited me for sex; I’ve been called a bitch and told to f*** off by strange men. I’ve gotten marriage proposals and heard “damn girl” and “beautiful” and been beeped at and stared at and screamed at and I didn’t ask for any of it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a compliment or an insult, polite or rude as hell – I don’t want it, and I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut because society has tried to program me into thinking I should feel grateful for the attention of all men, as if their admiration of my body is some sort of gift that I should cherish.

Let’s pursue the concept of mutual respect, shall we?

As in, I will continue not to comment on your body parts as though they exist for my personal pleasure, and that simple gesture of respect will be returned.

– Glorious BE

Location: Boston, MA

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