Which story? How about this one. I was 17 and leaving a mall. Walking to my car in parking lot, a young man with baggy sweatpants followed me to my car. I noticed it and head down, hurried, getting my keys ready to get in and lock up quickly. I had my 4 yr old sister with me and hurried to get her in the backseat. He leaned on the hood of my car and started masturbating. I got in, locked the doors, drove backward as quick as I could, but not before driving forward just a little bit 🙂 Just enough to knock him on his jerk off ass.

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

It’s not very common where I live – it is rather socially unacceptable for people to be harassed on the street in most parts of Canada. Didn’t stop this particular person, who, when I reported it, I found out had been doing it to others, too.

– Anonymous

Location: Calgary, Canada

I’ve lived in Upper Manhattan, in Inwood, for a year now. This is a mostly un-gentrified Dominican neighborhood. I’m a petite Caucasian woman with red hair and very fair skin; needless to say, I stand out a bit more than I’d like.

I am harassed every single day at all hours in my neighborhood. On my way to work, on my way home, getting groceries; anywhere, anytime. If I come home late at night, I specifically alter my route to avoid streets that I know to expect a lot of harassers to be loitering.

While most of my harassment consists of whistles, hisses, kissing noises, lewd remarks, and a lot of Spanish (which I don’t speak, so I mercifully can’t understand these remarks), I have also had my arms grabbed and been followed by men.

Because of the language barrier, I often just firmly say “NO.” to my harassers. The times I haven’t felt safe enough to address a group of harassers have been the times that I’ve been followed, or the harassing has become louder, more aggressive, and more degrading.

It’s unfortunate that I feel unsafe and uncomfortable in my own neighborhood on a daily basis. I do feel that my harassment is racially charged – my name is NOT “sexy little white girl,” “sexy white mama,” or any of the other horrible nicknames men have found to incorporate my race into a disgusting comment.

I am exhausted by the stress of being outside of my apartment. My plan is to move as soon as I possibly can.

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

I do plan to begin reporting men who harass me while they are working – delivery drivers, MTA employees (especially), and anyone else I can easily identify their employer. I’m also going to try the cards on the site as a way to silently respond to harassers while making a statement.

– AB

Location: Vermilyea Ave, NYC 10034

30th of May. 3pm. I had just handed my university project in and was going home to relax. On the way home I went into Tesco’s to get some shopping. Nothing out of the ordinary.

However, as I was walking down the street a man passed by me, eyed me up and down and said, “Ooohh… ..I’d love to do you.”

I am fairly used to getting whistled at etc, but for him to actually say that really creeped me out. I ended up turning around and telling him to piss off. But it still made me feel powerless. What was I meant to do? Publicly shame him? Kick him in the nuts? (I was incredibly tempted to do this had I not been carrying six bags of shopping – haha).

But seriously, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me. The stupidest thing was, I looked like complete crap as well. I had been writing constantly to try and get my university work done and was wrecked. I was dressed very plain and quite boyishly, so I really wasn’t looking for attention. I wasn’t even making eye contact at this man, I was looking at the other side of the street.

Eugh. If I was to say that to a man it would be totally unheard of. But I wouldn’t because I’m, you know, sane. Don’t worry though, I cheered up pretty quickly afterwards, a blasting of TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’ seemed to do the trick!

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

I have no idea. I wish there was a way to end things like this happening, but it seems it has become a social norm to engage in this behaviour.

I feel ashamed that I don’t know what to do. I usually just try my best to ignore it. Granted, it won’t make the problem go away, but I feel a lot better not giving into creeps like that who just want to make others feel small or uncomfortable. At the end of the day, my happiness comes first and I just continue to do what I was going to that day anyways. I’m not going to let them change my plans just because they’re being an asshole.

– Anonymous

Location: Aldgate East, London, UK

I recall on a hot summer day, I was wearing a flowing dress to go with the beautiful weather. There was a man, possibly the age of my father, who loved nothing more than to stare at a fifteen year old girl’s legs. Uncomfortable, I tried not to make eye contact as I slid away from the man who was less than five feet away from me. I exchanged looks with my friend who knew exactly what I was thinking. “What a fucking creep.” As five minutes pass, we try to make small talk, to ignore the man’s blatant staring. My sister- who was sitting next to me glances at the man- to our “surprise” taking photos of us. My sister then stares intensely back at him, and pulls out her phone to take pictures of him to give him a taste of his own medicine. Shamefully, he puts his phone down, but lord-behold he does not stop staring.

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

Stop being perverts

– Anonymous

Location: Flushing, NY

It’s whenever I leave the house. I seem to have been born with a magnate for the entitled. I am not pretty, and I am overweight. So of course there is at least one person who feels the need to tell me these things. Or that I would be prettier if I lost some weight. Or that I am a c**t. Or, in one most recent case, a drunk guy at a bus stop told every one waiting that my tattoo must mean I tried to kill myself (after telling him that it had personal meaning).

I used to get men yell out car windows at me to “walk faster!”, “move that ass!”

Since I moved, I have copped considerably less, but it is still when ever I go out. There is always at least one person who insists on staring, commenting to their mates, or commenting to me how I shouldn’t wear something or that I need to lose weight. Or, in the case of one “friend” that I would need extensive plastic surgery to ever be attractive enough to find even a “shitty husband”

I have had an acute anxiety and panic disorder for life, and people wonder why I don’t want to leave the house.

– Anonymous

Location: Brisbane, Australia