I work as a Pilates and yoga instructor, and up close, I look my age of 61, but from a distance I’m very fit. I’m almost always in my work uniform of black lycra long pants or capris and shirt and jacket with big lettering announcing my gym and title. I get harassed about once or twice weekly.

This week, at my bank branch a man my age behind me in line tapped me on the shoulder and told me he thought I looked great, he went on complimenting my “gymnastic”body. I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring.

I replied I am okay for an old married lady (I’m single). He went on to say he likes women who are fit and flexible and how he likes to eat his lunch in our parking lot while watching the women come and go from the gym. It’s a women-only gym.

I told him that’s why we like it. It’s a safe place from pervs who make us feel uncomfortable. Then the teller called me up by name and he shut up. What a creep! Men feel so free to comment on women’s bodies and appearance. I wish I had said more to him.

Last night I went to the shopping ma ll which adjoins a large supermarket. There was a man in his twenties, neatly dressed for the warm weather and pushing a few shopping carts. As he approached me he leaned towards me and made this very angry threatening face and almost in a whisper said, “bitch.”

I didn’t react or respond, and kept walking. He wasn’t wearing a market uniform. I assume he is another mentally ill person on the streets, or maybe just hostile towards older women. Just another weird day in the OC. It would be so great to feel safe in my own neighborhood.

– yoginijasmina

Location: In a bank and outside a shopping mall

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Around noon on a weekday I was walking to meet a friend for lunch in the busy downtown Toronto area. I was walking fast because I was worried I was going to be late, and I found myself walking behind an exceptionally tall man. (Who, was giving me a bad vibe.) He was walking slowly and I was hesitant to pass him because I knew he couldn’t see me when I was walking behind him. I scolded myself in my head for being judgmental about someone’s appearance and assured myself, “He’s probably a nice guy.” So I picked up my pace to pass him on the sidewalk.

As soon as I came into his line of vision he whispers to me, “I can’t wait to eat your pussy, sweet honey.”

I ducked into the first store I saw to get lost among the crowds…

And people wonder why I’m so wary of strangers.

– JaguarGrin

Location: Queen Street/Jarvis. Toronto, Ontario, Canada

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As a foreign woman living in Egypt, I’ve gotten used to unwanted attention over the past seven months. Walking down the street anywhere in Egypt, the chorus of “beautiful”, “very sexy” and “Oh my God!” (always in English for some reason) follows me.

Last week, the summer weather finally arrived on the coast. I was walking back to my school after buying a pair of sunglasses. I entered the building where I take Arabic classes, passing several friends at the door. I was halfway up the stairs when a man passed me. “You take Arabic classes?” He asked. Living here as long as I have, I know I shouldn’t talk to strange men, but for some reason I thought he must be a teacher at the school I didn’t recognize. I didn’t want to be rude, so I said I was, as I continued up the stairs.

“Here, take this.” I turned around, and he extended his closed hand to me. For some reason I thought it was candy, because the teachers at the school sometimes bring sweets for the students. I had barely moved my hand towards his, when he grabbed my breast, gave it a quick squeeze and started running. I stood there for a moment, completely in shock, my hand still extended slightly. I began to scream, thinking pointlessly that somebody would hear and catch him.

The girls working at the school came running, and try to comfort me. “You shouldn’t have to live with that.” One says to me. “It happens all the time.” I respond, because it’s true. Every single day living in Egypt I am harassed in some way, but it had been months since any of them touched me. Instinctively, I looked down at what I was wearing: a long, loose fitting skirt that covered my ankles, and a 3/4 length shirt several sizes too big. Below my chin was a small triangle of skin left exposed, something that nobody in their right mind could be upset about, but I thought to myself, “I knew I should have worn a scarf today.”

I try to remember that I don’t deserve to be treated like this, no matter where I’m from, no matter what I’m wearing, but I’ve been living here so long I hardly believe it anymore. I am dirt, lower than dirt, a foreign woman, obviously some sort of slut. Months of being told how sexy I am, being asked degrading questions, brushing off marriage proposals by complete strangers weighs on me. These men have reduced me to someone like them, someone that thinks I deserve to be assaulted because of two inches of uncovered skin below my collarbone.

– Laura

Location: Alexandria, Egypt

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Last year my mother came to visit me for a week. It was great, and we were just walking back to my apartment from a trip to the beach. As we finished crossing the street an old man smiles at us and makes an “Ehhhh?” sound. My mother, being the exceptionally polite and amazing person she is, says, “Good Morning”.

To which he responds by leering at our chests, miming with his hand like he was grabbing a pair of boobs, and chuckling and saying “Ehhh? EHhhhhhhhh?”

My mother and I stormed off…but I’ve never seen her so disgusted. And I was embarrassed to tell her that things like that happens all the time…

– JaguarGrin

Location: Queen/Leslie St. Toronto, Ontario, Canada

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