Refusing to accept catcalls as the norm

It?s Friday night, Downtown. I make my way to the Harris Theater to catch one of their film… It?s Friday night, Downtown. I make my way to the Harris Theater to catch one of their film gems. I spend a couple hours transported to a harsh Mideastern setting where the only woman around reveals just enough of her face so that she can see. She?s in a long, shapeless gown with scarves tied around her face and head. Not exactly Cosmo material ? she doesn?t get a lot of catcalls negotiating the mountainous badlands of the film.

I totter out of the theater in my spike-heeled, needle-toed, fake Blahniks and brown, satin pants. As I?m waiting to cross at an intersection, a loud group of guys come up and wait behind me.

?Damn! I?d like to tap that!?

?Take THAT back to the crib??

It takes an embarrassingly long time before I realize they are talking about me, before I realize I am a ?that? to them.

The light changes. The group and I go our separate ways. My face is burning, and I?m not sure if it?s shame or anger or both. I have a thousand things I?d like to say but don?t.

Now, I?m no shrinking violet and I?m generally fearless. I almost started a fistfight a few years ago with a drunken sports journalist who probably tripled me in size and insisted women had no place writing sports. So, on this particular evening, what stopped me from turning around and letting fly with an, ?I can hear you, dickwipe!?

Lots of things.

I don?t pack heat and I don?t carry mace ? contrary to any girls? guide to urban survival. I?m pretty tough (for a sixth-grader) but I?m a pacifist. So what if these Casanovas decided they didn?t want to hear what ?that? had to say? Remember, I?m Downtown in the evening. There?s no one around and alleys abound. I?ve been in enough sketchy situations, thank you. No need for another ? not over this.

I?m a big fan of enlightened discussion. You can get a lot more done through dialogue than through lecturing or shouting. Something tells me, though, that guys whose conversation is centering around ?that? don?t want to hear how comments like theirs tear away at women and girls, and how being objectified like that time after time causes damage that is never healed, only overcome.

Why waste my breath?

More importantly, why waste my time? Jerks like these will always see me as a walking vagina life-support system and it?ll never change, so I should just get over it, right?

Wrong. I?m tired of taking it. I?m tired of pretending I didn?t hear. I?m tired of the tragedy of boys who don?t know how to be men, and think this is it.

I?m tired of women who settle for it, myself included. I?m tired of women thinking it?s their fault for the clothes they wear or the drinks they drink, and I?m tired of people who think it?s castrating feminism to set limits and boundaries.

Where did we go wrong as a culture? I can wear things women in my grandmother?s day would be vilified for even considering. Since I view my clothes as an outward manifestation of my personality, this is a stride in the right direction, toward freedom of expression, right?

Why then, that night, did I envy the woman in the movie her sack-like dress and obscured features?

Because I doubt she?s ever had the sensation of being completely naked, standing fully clothed on a city street late at night, hoping the light will change quickly.

Melissa Meinzer wishes to thank Fabio and the Stork for introducing her to the oh-so-elegant term ?dickwipe.? E-mail her at mmeinzer@pittnews.com.