Looking Good, Baby

By far the biggest adjustment I've had to make to living in Chicago is the amount of (unwanted, unwarrented) male attention I receive on a daily basis. Having only ever lived in ultra-polite London, I cannot but help comparing the two societies.

In London, most of the homeless politely ask "Spare some change?" Invariably, a "God bless you" or "Thank you" is murmured in response, even to a negative one.

In Chicago, they come up to you and make demands. "Got 50 cents?" they bark.

But that's not the problem. Nor is it the fact that Chicago has more crazy people per capita than anywhere I've ever been. Rather, it is the constant barrage of harassment I'm sujected to whenever I step foot outside.

My all-time favorite story happened two Sundays ago. I was riding on the bus with my friend Rory when I felt a tug on my hair. Thinking it had been caught when I leaned back, I thought nothing of it until it happened again. Then, a minute later, another tug.

I turned swiftly around to find a man sitting behind me. He pursed his lips together and gave me a big smooch in the air. That was the last straw--I was sick and tired of this kind of thing, and wasn't going to be nice any longer.

"CAN YOU NOT TOUCH MY HAIR?" I shouted.

He mumbled that my hair was caught in his bag (how come he hadn't just told me?), that he gets seizures that make his mouth do that (sha, right), and that I should be complimented (in what universe?). I ignored him and continued talking to my friend.

This is by far the most outrageous of behaviours, but the list goes on:

there was the time I was walking in the rain and had a sleazy guy ask if I needed a ride

while waiting for the bus in a downpour the same day, sans jacket or umbrella, a man in a car at a red light kept shouting things to me. I could hardly hear him, but what I finally gathered was he wanted me to turn around for him so he could see every angle of my soaking-wet body

A male friend asked what I was wearing: a button-down shirt and knee-length skirt with flat shoes. Nothing overtly sexy.

See, it's different if you're dressed up. Walking down a main street in Boystown (the gay area of Chicago) with a girlfriend, we were whistled at by a car full of young guys. We grinned and kept walking, knowing that yes, we looked damn hot in our short skirts, fishnets, and heels. After bidding goodbye to my friend I walked by two black women and a man, who proceeded to shout compliments. Imagine the following with an African-American accent: "Look at the booty on her!" "And those legs!" "See her strut her stuff? She should be on America's Next Top Model!" I told them to not make my head too big and walked faster, inwardly quite pleased.

So see, it's not all bad. There was one morning on my way to work when a short Latino man said "Nice legs." I was flattered. (I do have nice legs, I know.) But the time I was walking by three Latino guys at a car dealership and one of them said "How you doing?" I cringed. And did it again a block later when I walked by two white firemen in front of their station. "Having a nice day?" one called.

What should I say in these circumstances? "I wasn't until now, but since you talked to me..."? How about a big "Fuck off!"? The harrassment trancends race and age, and even the factor of men trying to impress others in groups. I've had a "How you doing?" passing a guy alone on a street at night, just as I've been asked if I need a ride by a single guy in a car pointing the opposite direction from the way I was walking. (Do these guys actually think I'm a streetwalker? C'mon--what self-respecting girl would get into a strange man's car on her own? My brother told a story he witnessed of several drunken sorority girls getting in some strange guys' car, but there is something to be said for safety in numbers. And being drunk. And a sorority girl on Green Stree in Champaign-Urbana.)

I've been talking about this issue frequently with female and male friends alike. We should not disallow catcalls, whistles, and random compliments, for sometimes they are appropriate (when one is dressed to be noticed--out to the bars, say), and sometimes they can infuse your day with the knowledge that you're lookin' mighty fine. What is not okay is when there is a threat behind the statement. It's all about how it's said. Case in point: when I got caught in the rain, I was asked by two separate men if I wanted a ride. One of them said it in a sleazy, threatening manner. The other one looked like a do-gooder Samaritan. Of course, I got in neither car.

So while I have no answer, I do know that as a girl I carry the "female's burden" of being harassed. As a friend pointed out: would I rather never be noticed? I can't truthfully say.