Category Archives: Personal

Politics Are Messy

Posted on by
Reply

I had my purse stolen at gunpoint this weekend. After five years of living in major cities it’s the first time I’ve ever been mugged. And it’s been a mindfuck all around, but especially as I try to reconcile my politics with my emotions.

The area I was in is a predominantly black and predominantly poor neighborhood. The man who threatened me with a gun was a young black man.

As a result, I have privileged guilt flaring up all over the goddamn place. Guilt that I live in a more affluent neighborhood. Guilt that I don’t spend more time organizing around race and class. Guilt that the reason we looked like such easy marks is because we were – because we obviously had markings of wealth that stood out in that area.

It’s not an area I’m going to be comfortable returning to. And I feel awful about that. Part of me knows that avoiding the corner where you were last threatened with a gun is perfectly reasonable. Part of me is shouting at myself for being racist and classist for avoiding the surrounding area. And part of me even feels guilty that it’s likely most people who are mugged in that neighborhood CAN’T avoid it – because they fucking live there. And that just makes me angrier.

I’m angry at the whole fucking system that creates violent neighborhoods. Violence and poverty are inextricably linked, and the institutional responses to that relationship have traditionally been MORE violence instead of LESS poverty. It’s an evil cycle.

It’s a cycle I wish that I weren’t a part of, but I am. My phone’s GPS contributed to increased police presence on a particular street. Just as the Diet Coke I drink contributes to the deaths of union organizers. We are all complicit in oppression.

But I am still deeply troubled by it. There’s nothing like being a privileged crime victim to make your head spin with intersectionality.

When I was giving my phone’s location to the police, my partner asked me if I would be ok if they asked me to ID the guy. My first reaction was “hell yeah!” I’m fairly confident I would recognize his face and his voice, and am weirdly kind of proud of that. But then I was reminded of the severity of penalties for crimes committed with a gun. And I thought about the Three Strikes Law. And my conscience was stumped.

I’m socialized to believe in the justice system, even with my fairly radical academic parents. I still have ingrained worries that if I wouldn’t do my part this dude would hurt someone with that gun and it would be my fault.

Not to mention I’m fucking pissed. There’s a part of me that WANTS this guy to suffer. There’s a part of me that is absolutely not fucking ready to forgive him no matter what pitiable mitigating circumstances he could possibly offer. This guy made someone I deeply love afraid for her safety, ruined her vacation, and cost her money she can’t afford to lose. I am NOT ok with that!

But I also don’t believe in victims being in charge of punishments. And if I had faith in our justice system, I probably wouldn’t be so quick to lay that responsibility on myself. But I don’t.

I feel like helping deliver a young black man to the prison industrial complex isn’t something I could comfortably live with. My trust in my memory doesn’t overcome everything I know about the unreliability of eyewitnesses. Nor does my anger supersede the long history of criminalizing black men. And it’s impossible to take this case out of that context.

So I honestly don’t know what I would do if I were called and asked to ID a suspect in this case. I’m hoping that I don’t have to find out.

I do know that I wouldn’t testify. I couldn’t handle it. I’m not a respectable victim, even as a white girl in Crenshaw. I couldn’t stand in court talking about going to a dungeon party full of sex workers. I couldn’t stand listening to someone make a case to dismiss my credibility, and it’d be an easy fucking target. And I am angry as fuck that I’ve even thought that far into the hypothetical future. And furious that it’s a factor in my thought process.

I’ve already been through the victim blaming process on this. Twice. I don’t need to encounter it again.

The politics of trauma are inescapable. And there’s no good way to engage with them when you’re in the middle of it. Nor is there an easy way to work through it.

The past three days have been something of a blur for me. It’s been hard to distinguish this larger anger from small frustrations. But it helps that I’m not alone. I feel like I’ve been bouncing between close friends who have been holding me together while my brain is flying in a million different directions.

Honestly, if anyone wants to help me feel really damn good about the world help Sydney out. It’s really not her fault she was on that street in the first place. Seeing the support to her only amplifies my optimism. Both of our communities have been coming together in support and solidarity in ways that keep me from totally losing it.

And that’s something to be positive about, politically and personally.

I have faith in the power of communities and solidarity above all else. If nothing else comes out of this fucking mess – at least that faith has been proven well placed once again.

Why I Won’t See Zero Dark Thirty

Posted on by
Reply

Jessica Chastain in profile against an American flag

Mmmm Patriotism

I usually have a policy against joining critical conversations about things I’m not familiar with. I generally believe in watching, reading, or listening to whatever it is I’m commenting on. I also generally make an effort to engage with material that’s getting a lot of attention in critical or popular culture.

But I flatly refuse to see Zero Dark Thirty.

My adamant refusal is an act of self care. I’m trying to limit my engagement with material I that I know in advance is going to make me upset. I feel strongly about torture, and know that I am particularly sensitive to cinematic representations of it. I think the damage Zero Dark Thirty is going to do to my mood and outlook is going to outweigh whatever benefits I would get from seeing it (more knowledgeable position on the movie, aesthetic appreciation, ect.). Given that, I understand my role in any conversations is automatically limited. But I still feel compelled to explain what upsets me in greater detail.

I believe that torture, especially state sponsored torture, is wrong. I don’t see room for negotiation on that point.

On New Years I made some snarky, and admittedly uninformed, comment about Zero Dark Thirty as “torture apologism” and a friend of mine who had recently seen it told me that it wasn’t apologism, torture was simply there in the story. But that’s not enough for me. I feel that any statement regarding torture that doesn’t include “it’s wrong” is sorely lacking. The refusal to take a position at all makes a statement in itself. It states that this is an issue that is open to interpretation. I firmly disagree.

I’ve done some reading since that conversation took place. And what I’ve read about the movie has only strengthened by resolve not to see it.

Bigelow and Boal have emphasized that their film is fiction, and not meant to be a documentary. But at the same time they blend the lines between fiction and history with real news clips and a title card stating that what they present is “based on first hand accounts.” This is not a film, if one can exist, that can be taken out of historical and political context. Avoiding direct engagement with those contexts undermines any claims to realism or truth Zero Dark Thirty tries to make about the events it portrays.

One element I find particularly disturbing is that at no point in the movie is the use of torture questioned. Apparently the only scene that comes close is a clip of Obama condemning the use of torture playing in the background while Jessica Chastain shakes her head. Besides being historically inaccurate, as the debate about torture was raging within the US government and American public, this exclusion means that torture is an intrinsically accepted practice within the world of the film. To me, this suggests that the film itself, regardless of intentions, makes an argument for the acceptance of torture through it’s exclusion of alternatives or even interrogation of its use.

In this context, concerns about torture are then reduced to its efficacy. Critics have pointed out that the film implies a connection between the use of torture and capture of Osama bin Laden, as well as challenged the veracity of that claim. Another major exclusion is the disproportionate amount of false information learned from torture. That exclusion makes the argument that torture can be an effective tool, and therefore useful to the government. But honestly, I don’t give a damn whether torture is effective or not. Even if it led to reliable information (which it doesn’t) my feelings would stay the same.

Sitting through a film sympathetic to, and largely informed by, the CIA would make me uncomfortable in just about any situation. But graphic torture with the responsibility of interpretation left to the viewer is more than I can handle. I don’t trust viewers, and I don’t think the government’s use of torture should be debatable.

There’s a part of me that wants to see Zero Dark Thirty. It’s the same part of me that led me to read Stieg Larson’s trilogy. It’s the part of me that values curiosity over emotional health. But in this case I’m going to resist the impulse.

EDITED TO ADD:
Just as I was in the middle of posting this I was pointed to Kathryn Bigelow’s response on the LA times to the controversy regarding torture in her film. She defends her decisions claiming that “confusing depiction with endorsement is the first step toward chilling any American artist’s ability and right to shine a light on dark deeds, especially when those deeds are cloaked in layers of secrecy and government obfuscation.” I think she has completely missed the point. The arguments, or at least most that I’ve read, are not arguing that she should NOT have depicted torture, but rather that she depicted torture BADLY. This is an important distinction, and I think her defensesiveness about depicting torture at all is obfuscating the issue and is unfairly dismissive of criticism of her movie.

Non-linear thoughts and progress

Posted on by
1

I wrote this in the middle of the night after kind of a rough day. Fair warning for rambles, rants, and cursing.

There is no major progress that happens in a straight line[1]. I suppose if we really consider histories nothing really does. And I suppose the very language of “progress” assumes a sort of linearity and end destination. But it’s what I have right now. I’m thinking about non-linear processes both in larger senses of social movements and my own personal history. Timelines are often too reductive and erase the complexities in which we live them.

For social justice – this means having serious conversations about compromise. We can’t avoid it. I think that if we as activists accept that it’s a reality we’ll be much more conscious of how, when, and what we already compromise in our work. And we can find ways to do so without harming or devaluing other communities or issues. At some point in our lives and work, we have to accept that we can’t work on everything at once. Not everything can be everyone’s highest priority. That can be painful to grapple with, or certainly has been for me. But trying to impose centralized goals or value systems doesn’t leave much room for coalitional work or solidarity with other communities that we might not fully agree with.

Social justice isn’t going to happen off of one giant collective to-do list. We don’t have a diagram for achieving all of our goals. Because there will never be a point where everyone in the movements we align ourselves with agrees on what the goals should be, let alone what the steps are. And that’s ok. I firmly believe in decentralized movements with a multiplicity of tactics, goals, and beliefs. But that dedication to non-linear and non-hierarchal organizing includes a lot of discomfort and a lot of uncertainty. It’s fucking hard.

For me personally, accepting non-linear progress in my life has mostly centered around examining my recovery from this latest depressive episode and continual management of my mental health. I knew from the beginning it was going to be perpetual work. I knew that there would be ups and downs, and that some days would be far harder than others. But it’s much harder to live than to understand theoretically. Bad days can feel like failures. And a bad couple of days can feel like an unstoppable regression. But it’s all part of the fucking process of living and living with mental and emotional struggles[2]. Did I mention it’s fucking hard?

I know all of this rationally. But it’s a struggle for me to accept. I want to fit my life and our struggles into narratives. I want clear analysis and understanding to be enough. I want to have a map of where this is all going.

On good days I take comfort in the fact that we are open to wider possibilities than we would be if those constrictions were a reality. I can see opportunities for imagination and creativity for resistance and subversive actions. I feel good that my self-care by definition will be uniquely suited to my needs and desires. I am optimistic that while I’m working within the confines of a fucked up system and dysfunctional thought processes, I can do work to change those conditions a little bit for the better. And the future will bring new possibilities that are literally impossible to comprehend under our current structures of thought. Knowing that all my current planning and even thought processes will be totally irrelevant someday can fill me with hope and joy.

But some days it’s harder. Some days I don’t know how the fuck to even start addressing all the shit in the world. Some days social justice is a total bummer. We can’t even get through agendas at meetings. We’re working with little or no resources. And when we can’t even get along with each other (not airing personal shit – just happens to be true of every social movement like, ever). That’s not even starting on the internalized oppressions and harmful structures we recreate within our own movements.

And some days I can’t see how my life is going to change. I think about the prospect of being on medication for life and am overwhelmed. I look at my family history and see all the fucked up genes I would be passing on to my hypothetical children that I don’t even want. I get depressed about being depressed. And my only consolation is that I’m less depressed than I was. When I’m feeling cynical that isn’t much to hold on to.

None of this is new to my thinking either. Over one summer several years ago I thought I had figured out the secret to saving the world, but all I could remember was that it had something to do with circles.

I still don’t know what I meant by that.

So that’s where I’m at right now. I’m doing better than I was. I think movements for human rights / liberation / social justice / revolution have made things arguably better in a lot of situations than they were 50 years ago. I know that I’ve seen significant changes within my own lifetime. And I know that this will continue. I will have good days and bad days. Our movements will have ups and downs. We will all continue to succeed and fail in various cycles.

I just have to keep believing that while we’re collectively messy, we’re pushing in good directions.

1To be honest, I subscribe to the Doctor Who theory of non-linear time as well, though practically it doesn’t make much sense to apply to day-to-day situations.BACK

2I don’t even know the goddamn language for where my own experience fits. Mentally ill? Emotionally disordered? Neuroatypical? Crazybrained?BACK

Coming Out To My Partner

Posted on by
Reply
In honor of my first article on xoJane: on coming out as a sex worker, I decided to share one of my most precious coming out stories. I make it a point not to discuss my relationship in public very much. It’s one of the most important elements of my life, and informs my activism in a lot of important ways. Not the least of which is that my partner listens to me working out my thoughts or plans and reads at least half of what I write before I post it, including this. I could, and frequently do, gush about how wonderful and brilliant my partner is or how exceedingly lucky I am to have him in my life. I could tell you all the ways in which he has helped me become a better person, how he makes me laugh so hard I spit my drinks out, and how he makes me coffee just the way I like it. We have innumerable happy qualities and anecdotes about our lives together that I could share. But I’m going to tell you about coming out as a sex worker to him instead.

He bought me make-up flowers after some stupid fight we had

Let Me Share About My Oversharing!

Posted on by
1

I just sing what I wish I could say, and hope somewhere some woman hears my music and it helps her through her day

- Ani DiFranco “I’m No Heroine”

 

In case ya’ll haven’t noticed, I tend to overshare on the internet. It’s kind of my thing. And since I’m about to share about my history of sharing it felt appropriate to include a relevant Ani lyric and some fun pictures from my blogging past.

Continue reading →

Disappearing into Depression

Posted on by
2

Hello, world. Hello, internet. I’ve been distant and uncommunicative for a while now, and am starting to (slowly) foray back into society – both online and in person. I want you to know that it hasn’t been out of malice and has certainly not been personal. I know that I’ve mentioned in passing that I struggle with depression. And I know that many of you reading this are close friends who have been watching me shutter myself into my apartment like a hermit over the past couple months. But I feel like I should share what’s been going on. Because oversharing on the internet is kind of my thing. I suppose this is where I should put a trigger warning that I’m going to talk pretty explicitly about depression. It’s not exactly pretty.

But then it was Leonard’s turn to tell his story, and he opened his mouth and out came the most nicely modulated, well-articulated bullshit imaginable. He talked about the events that led up to his breakdown. He recited swaths of the DSM III that he’d apparently committed to memory without trying. He showed off how smart he was because that was what he was used to doing. He couldn’t stop himself.

That was when Leonard realized something crucial about depression. The smarter you were, the worse it was. The sharper your brain, the more it cut you up

“The Marriage Plot” – Jeffrey Eugenides

(not necessarily a brilliant novel, but has some terribly poignant moments)

Continue reading →

Summer of Travels

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve been across the country and back a few times over this summer. I met a lot of people, met with a lot of friends, and had so many conversations about sex work and sex work activism that my head is still kind of spinning with ideas and inspiration. There is so much I want to take from other places and work I want to do locally and on a larger level. I feel like in every place I learned about localized struggles for sex workers rights and pockets of community taking care of their own quietly and without outside support.

I missed LA. I missed our chapter. I missed my friends. I missed my bed. I missed my life here terribly.

But I learned so fucking much. About activism. About sex work. About my friends and colleagues. And about myself. I spent time staying in peoples’ houses (because I have the most generous of friends!) and seeing how their day-to-day lives go. I got to have family dinners with Jenny and her boyfriend. I got to play with Megan’s cats. I got to laze around reading with Patti. I got to eat breakfast at Kate’s favorite breakfast spot in Brooklyn. I got intimate glimpses into how other people live – and I feel extremely privileged for that. And I got to connect with my mentors. I got to have lunch with Audacia Ray. And I got to spend days with Serpent Libertine – who got me into sex work activism in the first place. And remains one of my favorite people in the world to this day. Importantly, we also caught a game in Camden Field which remains a highlight of my summer.

I also learned a lot from the conferences I went to. From the Google Ideas Summit, the International AIDS Conference, and FetishCon respectively. I have a large stack of business cards to follow up on, long list of blog posts to write, and long list of projects to try and tackle. Per usual – I have plans and ambitions. I know not everything will be completed. I know some will fall into the black hole of good ideas that never quite get off the ground. And I’m trying to be ok with that.

I also still maintain that I learned far more in casual or intimate conversations at tables, in hallways, over food, and even poolside than I did in a single session. And that’s also ok. I think that’s the whole point of conferences and gatherings. But it means I won’t be coming back with session notes – but connections instead.

It was also a fucking expensive summer. And among other things that means I’m going to have to be much much better about getting paid for my time in one way or another. Which sucks – but is necessary.

So – my poor blog has been neglected. As have most of my domestic responsibilities. But I’m back. And I’m healthy! And that’s what matters right now.

Adventures in Quitting

Posted on by
Reply

This is from a SWOP-LA event - but one of the few pictures of me in businessy clothes. In reality I would have had to wear opaque tights in the office to hide my tattoo

I have a LOT to say about my day job and circumstances under which I decided to leave. To put a positive spin on everything – it’s been an extremely educational experience. I’ve learned a lot about leadership, camaraderie, office supplies, technology, and security. It also gave me the luxury of being able to dedicate much more time and energy to SWOP-LA than most full time jobs would have. And I can’t overstate the importance that has had on my life. But I put in my 2 weeks notice last week. And my last day is a week from tomorrow (and my going away party is Next Thursday!)

I’ve been telling my co-workers that I’m leaving to be the director of a new non-profit. That’s not entirely untrue, but I feel like it’s important to to state that SWOP is not paying me. We are still an all volunteer organization. I do get some payment that as a result of my work (for writing, speaking, ect.) but it’s not the same as a stipend, let alone salary, from SWOP as an organization.

Here are some of the things I’ve learned during this transition

1. You Can Still Be Denied Health Insurance For Pre-Existing Conditions – It turns out that Obama’s reform about pre-existing conditions doesn’t take effect until 2014. It also turns out that “mild depression/anxiety*” and the accompanying prescription counts as severe enough to deny coverage. What really bothers me is that my first instinct was to berate myself for being so stupid as to be honest about my medical history. I’m sure my therapist would have something to say about that. Anyway – I’m confident I will find an insurance policy. I’m not worried about that at the moment – just irritated by how incredibly difficult the process has been.

2. Taxes Are Fucking Expensive – Did you know that when you’re self-employed or freelancing you should save 30% of your income for taxes? I didn’t! That’s a pretty sizable chunk of cash – and feels more sizable the less cash you’re making. I have literally never worried about this before, so it’s new. And saving money has never been something I’ve been very good at, so it’s challenging.

3. People Ask Incredibly Intrusive Questions – I’ve been actively trying to talk more openly about money and I think that it’s really important. Leading up to the decision to leave I discussed money in explicit detail with both my partner and some of my close friends. I highly recommend that move for anyone making a major job transition, or in general really. But I refuse to discuss my finances or my personal life with people who NEVER CARED before. I have been asked about how much I expect to make when I leave, how my partner feels about me leaving, how much my partner makes, if I have emergency savings, details about my personal expenses, and what the hell I’m going to do about my student loans. These questions have not come my friends, most of whom know the answers already in any case, but inevitably  by people who don’t even know said partner’s name.

Here is what I’m sharing publicly: I’m going to be just fine financially. By “just fine” I mean stressed and probably worried about money a lot of the time, but that’s been the case for a couple of years. I’m more than happy to share more in more private spaces of the internet or off the internet altogether. My partner is incredibly supportive and our relationship is just fine. In this case, just fine means one of the best aspects of me life and brings me joy and amazement every day. And no, I’m not returning to escorting.

4. Some of My Co-Workers Are Awesome – I only developed relationships with a couple choice co-workers, and I’m starting to regret that now. Aside from discovering one of my newer colleagues interned at Sex Workers Project, I’ve talked with a couple others who are fascinated and incredibly supportive of the work SWOP is doing – and could possibly lead to collaborations in the future. I stand by my decision not to be out at work while I was here, but it’s been exciting to get to know people that I secretly suspected were awesome beneath the veneer of professional interactions.

5. I’m Resilient - I keep expecting the impending panic attack to hit me. And maybe it will after my last day for real. But for the most part I have been nothing but happy and confident in this decision since I made it. The support from my friends, colleagues, and family has been enormously helpful. Each of the 23 “likes” I got on facebook when I announced I had given notice meant a lot to me. Even though this is going to be difficult. Even though giving up security and routine is scary, it’s going to be more than worth it. This is the right decision for me. And the rest of this year is going to be extraordinary for me. And if it’s not, I’m still going to be ok.

I’m excited to hang up my collection of Banana Republic trousers for a while.

*I wrestled with myself about putting this out there. It’s in quotes because I’ve always found it a humorously vague diagnosis, not because I don’t believe it’s real. I firmly believe that there should be no stigma around mental health struggles… but that doesn’t make it easier for me to talk about mine.

Sharing

Posted on by
1
Jessie Nicole in a pinstripe corset, black pencil skirt, and Oxford heels, gesturing with her hands mid-sentence

March 3, 2011 - my first Q&A about sex work - I hadn't actually prepared for that element of the event at all

Over the past year I’ve been giving presentations about sex work and sex workers rights. From explicitly activist or radical spaces, to classrooms, small groups, interviews, and one on one conversations, I’ve gained experience hitting the major talking points and discussing the concepts I tend to take for granted in my daily life. One of the challenges I still struggle with every time I start to speak is finding a balance of how much of my own life and experiences to share.

In my early presentations and conversations I focused heavily on myself as a sex worker and an activist. Partly because I didn’t know what else to do, and partly because it was similar personal stories that had helped me grow in my thinking and activism. I talked about how I got into sex work, my work as an escort, why I stopped escorting, and how I came into sex work activism. I shared my ambivalence and my mistakes as well as my joys and successes. And I think it helped. It was scary at times, and infuriating at others, but every time someone said I opened their minds or shifted their perspective I felt like it was worth it.

Image of woman sitting on floor with skin of her breast peeling open and three ghosts coming out of her heart staring back down at her

Illustration by Erin Wilson - Erroar.com

But it was exhausting. It felt like every time I talked about sex work (which is frequently) I was ripping myself open and letting strangers dissect parts of my life that I’ve barely let the people closest to me into. And I was deeply uncomfortable, and even disturbed, by some of the questions I was asked. It felt salacious. I felt like a curiosity on display even as I was trying to humanize their perception of sex workers. Even the broadly political or philosophical questions sometimes felt like there was an extra personal slant. I felt extra pressure to have the right answer, even regarding my life or my feelings, which are often messy.

I have since altered my presentation style to be far less about me. Besides being easier on me personally, I like to think that we’re able to focus more on the issues and broader range of sex workers than my earlier efforts. Since this shift in focus I’ve heard far fewer questions that made me cringe, and far fewer questions or comments that felt intrusive or insulting. I’m still out, and I still have personal details here and elsewhere in my writing, but I speak about myself far less. I tend to think of this as a good thing, but I don’t want my presentations to seem like abstract concepts or inapplicable theories either. I don’t want my audience to walk away thinking mine is the face of sex work, but neither do I want them still holding the image of an anonymous pair of legs as the image of sex work either.

My worry is that without so much of that personal element my presentations are losing some of their impact. I can’t help but wonder if for some people those personal stories are what drew them in so intensely. I don’t want to take myself completely out of the equation, but I don’t want to center the conversation on myself either. I don’t want other presenters to feel like they have to be out, or have to share personal details, in order to be effective. I also don’t want my audience to feel like their entitled to ask anyone talking about sex work personal questions about their lives (though I’m sure many do anyway – I don’t want to encourage that behavior). I erred on the side of oversharing in the beginning, and now I can’t help but wonder if I’ve overcompensated. I don’t even know how to examine that.

Jessie Nicole in a greet sweater dress and another SWOP-LA member with blonde hair and a green knit cardigan standing in front of a classroom

Hunter green knit sweaters are the way to look respectable when talking about sex work

I don’t imagine that I’m going to find the right balance in every situation. And I know there’s not some magic formula for how much or how little to share for each audience, though it would be nice. I wish I even knew what my goals and boundaries were, but the truth is that they often shift. My main concern has been, and continues to be, how to most effectively present this information and cause so people recognize its importance and how it fits into a larger scheme of oppressions. I want people to care about sex workers lives and human rights, and to shift their behavior accordingly. And I want to know how to make them do that. It seems like I’ve gotten something right in at least some of these talks, but I don’t necessarily know how to replicate it, let alone how to replicate it in a way that is sustainable for me and for other sex workers speaking in public.

Street Harassment

Posted on by
Reply

When I saw Meet Us On The Street: International Stop Street Harassment Week I was incredibly excited. Street harassment is a (sadly) normalized part of my life, and I’ve been wrestling with my anger and frustration around the issue for years.  For sex workers, street harassment can be particularly dangerous as the threat of violence is ever present. I’ve been lucky. I haven’t been physically or sexually assaulted on the street or otherwise. But my guard is up in public.

I remember the first time I was catcalled on the street vividly. I was 11 years old and walking with my best friend around her neighborhood in Orlando, FL. We had taken a trip to 7-11 and literally had gummy worms hanging out of our mouths and sweat pouring down our bodies in the tropical humidity. We were wearing nearly identical Old Navy jean shorts and cotton tank tops. A man drove by slowly, whistled, and called out “hey baby!” as he passed by. We stared at each other and erupted into giggles, marveling that we could elicit a “hey baby!” in our sweaty and candy filled state. We found the whole thing hilarious, but with a touch of pride.

Since then being catcalled or harassed on the street has become something of a common occurrence for me. Sometimes it is equally hilarious, like the man who drunkenly informed that I was the reason we won World War II. Other times it has been frightening, like the time a man yelled in my face that I “better find a rich husband to pay for that pussy!” I had a stranger on the street grab my arm and insist he wanted to play tennis with me. I’ve been whistled at, hollered at, leered at, complimented, insulted, propositioned, threatened, and groped on the street. And I will probably continue to experience all of that.

Continue reading →