episodes from the life of a working girl
Why are men in New York City so weird?



ME: (walking to work, humming, generally out of it at 8am)
RANDOM DUDE WALKING BEHIND ME: You got strong legs. You got strong legs and strong calves. And you walk well on those strong legs.
ME: Thank ... you?

-

ME: (spacing out as I walk to the subway, and whistling a tune)
RANDOM MAN ON STOOP: Hey, this girl is whistling! (wolf-whistles)
ME: (hurries by)
RANDOM MAN ON STOOP: (continues to wolf-whistle until I am out of earshot)

-
ME: (waiting for the light to change, eating a peach purchased from a street fruit stand)
RANDOM MAN NEXT TO ME: (mimes fellatio until I notice, then gives a salacious grin)
ME: (hurries off)

Also: I get many, many, many helloes and good mornings. And waves. And nods. And predatory gazes.

It's not that I mind the attention all the time - it's kind of flattering, especially if I'm feeling insecure. But when I'm in a bad mood, and the gazes are particularly vulpine, it makes me feel really vulnerable - especially if I'm alone at night or even in the evening. And even on a sunny day when I'm in good spirits, it's still kind of upsetting that I can't whistle or eat in public without provoking surrounding males. It's not that I'm even so attractive - it's just that I am well-endowed in the chest area. I watch them watch them as I walk by, and it's, frankly, kind of unsettling. And these are normal, baseline phenomena for any girl in her teens to mid-twenties in a pretty dress in New York. It's men in their twenties, sure, but it's also men in their sixties, and everyone in between. Well-dressed, poorly-dressed. I guess it's a bit shallow to focus on this/blog about it, but it's really kind of remarkable to me - and it's certainly an everyday phenomenon. Or rather, an *every* *day* phenomenon. And given that I overthink everything, I start pondering the phenomenology of it ... the philosophical dimensions ... the righteous-feminist-anger facet... etc.

I mean, philosophically, right, it's kind of interesting ... when I am in a positive mood I think: I am a young and fertile girl and I am in possession of what EVERYONE wants. Within my loins lies the key to the perpetuation of the human race, right? In a way, the nods and comments are a kind of tribute to that status. They're an expression of Man's desire to perpetuate himself, a primal outpouring of life-force, a whistle against oblivion. It's an obeisance - expression of the desire to give a libation. After all, fertility goddesses were the first kind. This is particularly evident in the case of the older men - they are telling me they're not ready to shuffle off the mortal coil yet, they can still appreciate my legs and shoulders, the mortal & effervescent beauty of youth. "Beauty is momentary in the mind,/the fitful tracing of a portal,/but in the flesh/it is immortal. ... So gardens die, their meek breath scenting/the cowl of winter, done repenting/so maidens die, to the auroral/celebration of a maiden's choral." (Wallace Stevens, "Peter Quince at the Clavier")

Feminist rage, though: I guess this part is self-evident. I would like to be able to walk down the street without the stares. It makes me feel lonely sometimes, and, well, not to toss around an overly tossed-around term, but objectified... like I'm being stripped of being anything but being a mobile body for appraisal. I am not walking on the street for your appraisal or approval. I am walking on the street to get to work. To pay for things while I am in college. Harvard, actually, not that you would ever know that. Or want to know that. Or care. Seriously, dudes? Go turn your predatory gaze on someone who gets paid to absorb it, on your computer screen. Let me alone, I'm tired and I schlepped in from New Jersey to get here.