I committed a screed on tumblr.
I wrote the following in response to a woman on tumblr who tried to explain to a guy why women don't always appreciate compliments (because women are taught men are a threat. I disagreed.) You can read the whole thing here, but for those of you without tumblr or who want to have a convo that involves a functioning comment system, I'm reposting here.
You know what? No. This is not a description of a guy I’d consider a “decent man”. Men who yell at women in public, men who “compliment” strange women in public, all of them, every single one, decided it was okay to objectify me or the woman standing next to me or whatever. And that shit is not okay no matter how “nice” you are and how much you genuinely mean it.
My body isn’t for public consumption. I want to be able to walk around in the street outside my house, at work, on public transport, in the supermarket, wherever I am, without being consumed by some dickhead who thinks my existence is for him to enjoy and feels the need to share this with me. I’m not a model who chose to be captured for beauty’s sake on film, I wasn’t hired professionally for my looks, and I don’t dress for anyone’s enjoyment.
Men who need to ask this question in this way, “Why are girls upset?” don’t get it. Not because they’ve never thought about putting themselves in the girl’s place; that information is and likely has been made available to them before. They want the right to compliment us, to consume our bodies, to look and to needle with that little compliment that isn’t a compliment at all. It’s them claiming public spaces for themselves and graciously allowing us to exist in it because we can be consumed and “admired”.
I am not my body. I am not graciously permitted in public spaces; I don’t want the “right” to be here because you’ve deigned me pretty and are disappointed that I don’t smile when you tell me so. I exist, I live my life, I earn a living, and I have the same rights to exist free of harrassment and commentary as you do. I am not your little power trip. Any guy who needs to ask this question doesn’t fucking get it. It’s not about Schroedinger’s Rapist, because you are Schroedinger’s Rapist whether you talk to me late at night or not. It’s not because I might be blamed for my sexual assault when it happens. It’s because my sexual assault happens (happened) because you decided that I was for consumption. You and thousands and thousands of other men never questioned the ridiculous premise that my body is considered to be for your consumption when I set foot out the door, the ridiculous premise that it’s okay for you to invade my privacy and my space to tell me what you think of me, unprompted, unasked, without knowing me or gracing me with so much as your name.
Girls are “upset” because you’re being a dick and thinking I exist for your enjoyment. I’m upset because there are thousands of you who like to let me know, in a myriad of different little ways, that you’re tolerating me because I’m pretty enough. I’m not my face and I’m not my body, asshole. I’m a human being. And men are only decent in my eyes when they show that they get that fundamental fact.
You know what? No. This is not a description of a guy I’d consider a “decent man”. Men who yell at women in public, men who “compliment” strange women in public, all of them, every single one, decided it was okay to objectify me or the woman standing next to me or whatever. And that shit is not okay no matter how “nice” you are and how much you genuinely mean it.
My body isn’t for public consumption. I want to be able to walk around in the street outside my house, at work, on public transport, in the supermarket, wherever I am, without being consumed by some dickhead who thinks my existence is for him to enjoy and feels the need to share this with me. I’m not a model who chose to be captured for beauty’s sake on film, I wasn’t hired professionally for my looks, and I don’t dress for anyone’s enjoyment.
Men who need to ask this question in this way, “Why are girls upset?” don’t get it. Not because they’ve never thought about putting themselves in the girl’s place; that information is and likely has been made available to them before. They want the right to compliment us, to consume our bodies, to look and to needle with that little compliment that isn’t a compliment at all. It’s them claiming public spaces for themselves and graciously allowing us to exist in it because we can be consumed and “admired”.
I am not my body. I am not graciously permitted in public spaces; I don’t want the “right” to be here because you’ve deigned me pretty and are disappointed that I don’t smile when you tell me so. I exist, I live my life, I earn a living, and I have the same rights to exist free of harrassment and commentary as you do. I am not your little power trip. Any guy who needs to ask this question doesn’t fucking get it. It’s not about Schroedinger’s Rapist, because you are Schroedinger’s Rapist whether you talk to me late at night or not. It’s not because I might be blamed for my sexual assault when it happens. It’s because my sexual assault happens (happened) because you decided that I was for consumption. You and thousands and thousands of other men never questioned the ridiculous premise that my body is considered to be for your consumption when I set foot out the door, the ridiculous premise that it’s okay for you to invade my privacy and my space to tell me what you think of me, unprompted, unasked, without knowing me or gracing me with so much as your name.
Girls are “upset” because you’re being a dick and thinking I exist for your enjoyment. I’m upset because there are thousands of you who like to let me know, in a myriad of different little ways, that you’re tolerating me because I’m pretty enough. I’m not my face and I’m not my body, asshole. I’m a human being. And men are only decent in my eyes when they show that they get that fundamental fact.