Like many women, when I’m in a public place, I’m often greeted by men who want to convince me of my own attractiveness. Of course, this is whether I want them to or not. For anti-street harassment week, I’d like to write about some of my experiences with men who are absolutely convinced that I need to be told that they want to fuck me while I’m existing in their presence. Consider this a brief memoir of sorts - a collection of memories from the short-lived life of someone who is apparently just too sexy to go about her daily business. 

The first time a man graciously let me know how incredibly beautiful I am I was 16 and pumping gas into my 1994 POS model Saturn after I had driven home from high school. I paid in cash, so as I was coming out of the gas station a man in a POS some-other-car called to me. I don’t remember what he said, but it was some variation of “Hey sexy”, “Hey beautiful” or some other relatively benign cat-call. It was only when I turned my nose up at him that his voice changed and he again called out to me, only this time my name wasn’t “beautiful” or “sexy”, but “bitch”. 

Maybe he was referencing the Akon song? I mean, calling out to me was about complimenting me on my striking beauty and grace, right? Either way, I was 16, alone, and unable to do anything meaningful about it, so I pumped my gas as quickly as I could, got in my car and was happy that I was close to home. 

A second time that my visage was too astonishingly attractive not to be commented on, I was 17 and checking the mail at the post office for my mom. I was walking out of the post office on a hot, sunny, Florida day. While I made my way to my car, a man much older and much taller than me leaned in to me and said softly “You’re beautiful” and then gave me a knowing grin. 

My face just contorted into a look of puzzlement. Actually, I was just getting mail. And actually, I was just legally underage. Actually, I looked younger than I really was for most of my teen years. But hey, he was just a much older man in a pretty deserted parking lot with a very young girl. He was just trying to be nice, right? He probably couldn’t help himself, what with my tank top and jeans ensemble that I had been wearing that day. I do have really nice arms. 

Another more memorable time I was whistled at I was a little older. Over the legal age, at least, so hey - improvement! My doggies and I had taken a little jaunt, and being dogs, one of them dropped the kids off at the park. Being a good citizen, I got my plastic Publix bag out of my pocket and assumed the pick-up position, squatting a bit and bending over so as not to get too close to the shit to be overwhelmed by it’s powerful aroma (my dogs don’t mess around) but of course close enough to enclose my bagged hand around it. 

At that moment, a group of young men drove by in a black pick-up truck, honked the horn, and hollered various versions of “Hey sexy” at me. Not being used to people giving compliments in organized drive-by groups, I merely looked up startled. Then, realizing I still had warm shit in my hand, I went ahead and dropped that in the trash can and walked my pups home, my spirits totally lifted by being told I was fuckable while imitating a pooper scooper, or something.

While it’s hard to beat being super sexy while picking up dog shit, I still have one more memory of a young man who was super motivated to compliment me via not leaving me alone in a department store. I’m a total Maxxinista, which I guess is how I stay so stylishly harass-able. 

One day I was shopping at my local TJ Maxx with my mom. She, as usual, went on to peruse the housewares section while I stayed lingering in the clearance dress section - where I live. I had selected a couple of items that I wanted to try on when a young man came up behind me. 

“I could buy that for you” he said to me. I turned around, because at that point all I had heard was his voice. I did a double take, making sure no one was behind me that he could have been talking to. 

“Uh” I said, articulately. 

“Come to my car”

“Uh”

“I can buy that for you and more, baby, what do you want? Just pick it out”

“Uh. I can buy things.”

“Come on baby, I can get that for you”

This guy was determined to be a grade A public space complimentor.

My eyes darted around for any sign of a manager or my mom. I was worried at this point that my revelation that I had the capability to buy things on my own and no interest to give a stranger head in a TJ Maxx parking lot would get me into some trouble. 

I was really fortunate. The guy finally walked away without any trouble after I just kept repeating “no, I’m good” while looking around and moving my head back on it’s neck as far as it could go. 

I went and found my mom immediately, and didn’t see that guy again in the store or in the parking lot. I went home feeling great about being treated like a hooker in a department store I frequent. Oh, those public space compliments. Always a self-esteem boost.

Except they’re fucking not. That experience was terrifying. 

I’ve written about my experiences in a sort of tongue and cheek fashion, because that’s generally how I deal with things that are disturbing, enraging, and frightening. 

none of the things above were complimentary. Can we please stop buying into the notion that guys cat-call women to compliment them? Is there anything complimentary about being told you’re beautiful by a stranger who doesn’t know anything about you, and then when you don’t express the utmost gratitude, you get called a bitch? 

Is there anything complimentary about being an underage girl in a somewhat deserted area with a much older, much larger man getting into your personal space?

Is there anything complimentary about hooting and hollering at someone who is in the middle of something not so pleasant? In a group?

Is there anything complimentary about having something foisted on you while you’re just trying to mind your own business?

The only particle of information you need to make that determination is that of the one who is supposedly being complimented. Does it make them feel good? If you ask me, no. Does it make them feel appreciated? Again, if you ask me, not at all. Does it make them feel safe, valued, or respected? No, no, and no.

So cut it the fuck out, dudes. I shouldn’t have to have these experiences. You’re not entitled to being able to tell whoever you want how fuckable they are at any time. Besides - I know I’m hot, and I don’t need you to validate it.

Every week should be anti-street harassment week. And if you’re a man and you don’t say anything to other men around you who harass women in public spaces (if you’re safe enough to do so), you are just as bad. 

This is not a women’s issue. This is a men’s issue. 

So do better guys. I don’t want to have any more stories to add to my little memoir here. 

More info on anti-street harassment week here.